


Kindred Hearts

by Meowser_Clancy



Series: Assorted Jimel AUs [1]
Category: Ghost Whisperer
Genre: AU, F/M, otp, together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 18:32:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 54,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meowser_Clancy/pseuds/Meowser_Clancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Jimel AUs, all contained in one chapter, all separate. First up we have the ever traditional and oh-so-needed Nanny AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Nanny AU

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghostwhispererfangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwhispererfangirl/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nanny AU. Melinda is a professional woman who just needs help. Jim is a family man without a family of his own who's ready to offer it to her.

She felt her neck cricking, and tilted it sharply to the side as yet another phone call came in.

"Sorry, I have a call waiting, let me take it really quickly," Melinda apologized, taking the opportunity to switch ears. "Hello? It's Melinda."

"Hello, my name is Jim Clancy, I'm responding to Care Agency's post for a nanny. I'm registered with them."

The voice on the other end was smooth, sexy, deep.

Melinda couldn't help stiffening a little bit, for as much as she tried to not be, well, sexist, a male nanny was not part of her plan. She'd only just succeeded in kicking her children's father out of their lives and she didn't necessarily want another totalitarian male around them, bossing them around.

"Um, I guess the next step is an interview. I assume you have the proper credentials and resume?" Melinda asked.

"It's one of Care Agency's number one priorities," Jim responded. "Of course I am."

She could almost envision the male pride stiffening stance that her ex-husband loved; this curl as they got taller and snottier.

"Listen, I'm a busy woman," Melinda began.

"Which is why you're trying to hire a nanny," Jim finished for her.

_Mm. Bossy, too._

"I'll need to check my calendar, and, well, I don't have it with me now. Can I call you back?"

"Of course," Jim said, giving her his number. "It was nice talking to you, Melinda."

Switching back to the other line, Melinda looked at the paper she'd written the number on. Even though she hadn't any intention of calling him back...it didn't hurt to save things like this. God knew he might call her again and then she could dodge.

* * *

A few weeks later, Melinda had gone through seven candidates for the job, mostly young to middle aged women who had a vague air of competency and compassion around them. The big thing was that, surveying them with her kids, she didn't see a connection. And yes, a caregiver's connection shouldn't rival the parents, but just the way that they treated her kids...it was so painfully obvious that this was a job to them; that they had no personal connection to the child and wouldn't ever try to.

And they acted just as, if not more, busy than Melinda herself. It was hard enough to be a career woman in this day and age with children; she didn't need to juggle another career woman's schedule. The young women were doing it as a placeholder or jumpstart to a better career and the middle aged women were trying to fill in the cracks, all the while stipulating that they had to pick up their _own_ kids after school, etc.

Melinda was all for supporting women. She was a woman.

But what she needed was support for herself.

She walked into her home study late one midnight, after Samantha had kept her up for two hours crying because her teeth were finally coming in, because now she just couldn't sleep. She had a meeting in the morning; she was supposed to present a very big idea to the top execs at her firm and she'd been working on it for weeks. Now, because of one lost night of sleep, everything might be blown because her body language and speech patterns might be off.

And she still hadn't found someone to babysit. She'd asked Delia, Andrea, even her mother.

Hell, even _Kevin's_ mother.

And they were all busy.

Melinda was at the end of her rope. She was exhausted and she was about to call the most promising of the candidates she'd interviewed (meaning, the only one who seemed minorly less busy than Melinda herself) when she saw the piece of paper pinned to her bulletin board:

_Jim Clancy's number. Don't pick up._

She stared at it for a moment, before picking up the phone and dialing. God help her.

If Jim picked up...that proved something big.

"Hello?"

Just hearing his sleep voice made her feel a tingle, way down in her stomach, one that she so quickly dismissed that it was almost like she could pretend it wasn't there but somehow the quick dismissal seemed to enhance its importance to her.

"Hey, is this Jim?"

"Yeah?" He responded, clearly confused. After all, most people who called in the middle of the night knew who they were calling.

"This is Melinda Gordon, you called a few weeks ago about a nanny job?"

She could hear bed covers rustling; the sound of him getting up? There was no murmur of assurance to a lover/girlfriend/boyfriend so at least she wasn't interrupting romantic time.

"Yes, I did, um, I didn't expect to hear from you again."

"Yeah, well," she started, beginning to say _desperate times call for desperate measures_ and thinking better of it. "The agency can provide you with my address. If you can be here at 7:30 this morning, I'd like to interview you."

She could hear more sounds on the other line.

"Um, yeah, I can be there...I think," Jim responded. "Let me check my calendar."

She closed her eyes, knowing what was coming next. He was going to reject her, shout her down, tell her she was a bitch for being touchy last time.

"It's all clear tomorrow, I can be there."

The sincerity in his voice utterly floored Melinda. Maybe he'd actually been checking his calendar and hadn't been intending to throw back her words at her.

"7:30," she confirmed. "Bright and early."

"I'll be there," he promised.

She found herself clinging to the phone, to the conversation, to not being alone at this time of night.

"I..."

"Um..." Jim said in reply.

Samantha's cries suddenly came through the baby monitor in Melinda's hand. "Sorry, the baby's crying," she apologized. "I'll have to go tend to her."

"Teething?" Jim asked, voice sensitive.

"Yeah, how did you know?" Melinda wondered, starting up the stairs with the phone pressed to her ear.

"The Care Agency posts the ages," Jim said. "Your younger child is under a year. That's the usual reason for crying."

"Of course," Melinda said reflectively. "Um. See you tomorrow."

"It'll actually be today," Jim chuckled.

His laugh made her feel something even more electric.

"Thank you," she said simply. "For coming on such short notice."

"Hey, that's what parenting has to be sometimes," Jim said. "Short notice. See you in...six hours, Melinda Gordon."

"Thanks, Jim Clancy," she said and gently hung up before walking into her child's bedroom and picking her baby up, cradling her close.

Behind her, Will came wandering into the doorway.

"Ah, buddy, I'm sorry, did Sam wake you up?" Melinda asked, as the three year old came running to Melinda, his toy rabbit bouncing on the floor behind him.

"Yes," he whispered, throwing his arms around her legs.

"Come on," she promised, guiding all three of them to the arm chair in the nursery meant just for moments like these. She sat down, settled Samantha on her lap and then patted the chair beside her. Will scrambled up, settling into her side. She put up the stool and spread a blanket over them. "We can all sleep in here, Will, okay?"

"Okay," he said, snuggling even closer to her. She closed her eyes, and drifted off, children near to her.

* * *

She woke up to hear the doorbell ring.

It rang again, after Melinda spent a few bleary eyed moments wondering what it was.

Then the phone in her hand started to ring and she noticed the light in the room; the time on the clock. 7:30.

Holy shit. She was supposed to be up by this time, she was supposed to be dressed. Why didn't Sam or Will wake her?

She quickly felt their foreheads, checked their pulses but both children were simply sleeping peacefully.

Melinda wiggled out of the chair, put Sam back in her crib and dashed down the stairs. Her oversize flannel pajamas billowed on her; leftovers from early maternity wear.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she vowed, opening the door in a rush to see...

Well, whatever she'd been dreading but not really expecting (how many alpha males went into child care?)

Jim was all that and more.

Tall, dark hair, muscles...handsomer than any man she'd seen. A better smile than any man she'd ever seen.

"Hi, Jim Clancy," he said, offering his hand.

"Melinda Gordon," she managed, taking it.

His handshake was firm, quick. Until he didn't let go.

She blinked up at him.

"Sorry," she managed, yanking her hand away and letting him in. "I'd expected my kids to wake me up but I guess we were all so comfortable in the nursery that none of us did."

"You slept in the nursery with them?" Jim asked, a note in his voice that she couldn't identify as his tall frame filled her doorway and shut the door carefully behind him as he wiped his feet (needlessly) on her front hall rug.

"Yeah," she said defensively, worried she was about to get a lecture on child safety.

"That's nice," he said and she didn't know what to feel about that.

"Anyway," Melinda said. "I am so sorry about such short notice."

"It's totally fine, I'm...out of work," Jim said. "I was laid off after some budget cuts and I thought I'd give this a try."

"What called you to be a nanny?" Melinda asked, frankly.

"My brother has kids, he started early, when I was just a teen," Jim said. "Got married to a wonderful girl and started popping them out. Sorry, that sounds wrong. But I mean, I have a great time with them. It feels good to play around, to answer their silly questions. I started to want to work with children but, I don't know, my degree was so far out of the childcare league...none of the classes overlapped. And then I heard about nanny work. And I was like, why not. So I got the credentials and now I've...just been waiting for someone to call me back."

His blue eyes looked down at her, intense.

God, she had a weakness for men with blue eyes.

"I'm really the first one?" Melinda managed to say, pulling her gaze away.

"Yeah, I guess women don't like the idea of a male nanny, and I get it," he said, raising his hands. "I understand that it's just a different idea and hard to process and that's fine. But I think I'd do a good job. I've got the experience."

"Yeah," Melinda said, shifting from one foot to the other. "Okay, this goes against procedure and rules and everything but if you'll just give me a minute to call your references...could you watch my kids this morning? I've just got this huge meeting and I just can't afford to miss it."

Jim's eyes widened. "Yes," he said.

"Purely on a trial basis," Melinda said. "And I'll be calling every half hour to check on things and if you miss picking up even one of those calls I'll have the cops over here so fast..."

"Of course," he said. "I'll give you the numbers. I think Carly will be up."

"Thanks," she said, going into the next room, phone in hand.

* * *

Carly, his sister-in-law, had only good things to say about Jim. The other number she called was an unrelated older woman, who'd supervised training sessions.

"You have nothing to worry about with Jim," she assured Melinda. "Nothing."

Melinda came back into the foyer to find Jim still standing there, same place, hands shoved in his pockets.

"You got the job," she said. "We'll sign the necessary paperwork later, if you don't mind. I really have to get my morning started. Um. Do you want to come upstairs?" She asked.

"Just as a trial basis," he said. "If you're unsatisfied with the way I handle things today, I promise I won't be offended."

"Good," she said, nodding her head. "Let's get you introduced to Sam and Will."

"You have a 3 year old son and a daughter who's under a year, yeah?" Jim asked, following her up the stairs.

"Yes, I do," she responded. "Will is my boy, and Samantha is my daughter."

"Those are good names," he said. "Traditional. Not McKenna or Dyllannn with about three 'n's."

"No, I'm all about tradition," she said, laughing. "With some things."

She pushed open the door to the nursery to find Will still snoozing in the chair and Samantha just waking up in the crib.

She hurried forward, scooping Samantha into her arms. "You need a diaper change, baby," she mused.

"I can take her," Jim immediately offered. "If you have a meeting, I'd expect that you need to get ready."

"Yeah, but I need to get Will up so he can get used to you before I go," Melinda said. "He's shy. I don't know how well this will go over but god, Jim, I'm desperate."

She hated herself the minute she said the words. No. No, you didn't admit to being helpless or needy. You just didn't. Not if you were an independent, working woman. A soon to be divorced working woman. A _mother_. Mothers especially were not allowed to let their needs show. No, mothers were supposed to be _perfect_. Or else.

Jim's eyes widened. She looked up at him and their gazes locked.

She broke away and hurried to gently shake Will awake. "Hey, baby," she said, as his big brown eyes slowly opened, blinking up at her. "You want to hear something exciting? I've got someone for you to meet."

She went ahead and picked Will up, realizing that Jim had gone ahead about changing Sam's diaper.

"Thank you," she said.

"It's my job," he said simply. "Hey, little man. I'm Jim."

Will stared at him. Melinda tensed, wondering what was coming next. Would Will see his daddy in Jim and be terrified or would he see that, so far, Jim might actually be nothing like Kevin?

"Hi," Will said. He stared at Jim for a moment, before proffering his stuffed rabbit. "Dewy."

"This is Dewy?" Jim asked, sounding delighted. "Hey, Dewy, I'm Jim. Nice to meet you." He took hold of Dewy's stuffed hand and shook it.

Will smiled hugely, before burying his head in Melinda's shoulder again. "Is he nice?" He whispered in her ear.

Melinda held Jim's gaze, feeling an emotion that she would have embraced just a few years earlier. "He's very nice," she promised.

The look in Jim's eyes changed; he straightened a little bit.

"Do you want him to make you breakfast?" She asked, carefully setting him down once he was ready. The clock was nearing eight. Her meeting was at 9:00. She had a twenty minute commute and Rick would kill her if she was late to their pre-meeting meeting to go over last minute strategy.

"Do...you make...pancakes?" Will asked.

"I make the best pancakes," Jim vowed. He reached a hand down to Will. Sam was still tucked in his huge arm. Melinda should have felt trepidation, some measure of fear. But she didn't. She trusted this man implicitly.

"Sam's got a bottle downstairs, I could do that, or just take her here," Melinda said.

His gaze briefly darted down to her chest, but somehow, she wasn't offended.

"I have that in hand," Jim said.

"It's...from the pump, frozen," Melinda said.

"I'll find it," he promised. "Your house is so organized. I'm sure locating the bottles will be a cinch."

"I'll take a shower then," she said.

She didn't miss the way his eyes darted back to her at that statement, darkened a bit.

And then he was smiling. "I'll take these guys downstairs."

* * *

Melinda took a shower, letting herself take just a little extra time, before slipping out and pulling a towel around her, immediately heading out of the bathroom and to her bedroom, turned the corner and found Jim in front of her, coming out of the nursery.

Oh god.

This wasn't good.

He'd be like Kevin. She hated the way Kevin acted after she took a shower, like she'd only taken it to be more attractive to him, more pleasing, more sexy.

Jim's eyes were widening, at the wet skin above her towel and the legs beneath it.

And then he turned. "I was just grabbing another burp towel for Sam," he said. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," she said, but he was already jogging down the stairs.

* * *

She dressed in a her best gray suit, over a crisp white dress shirt, hurried down the stairs and found a place set for...her?...at the table. Will was seated in his high chair, very happily eating pancakes, and Sam was in Jim's arms, being rocked back to sleep after her breakfast.

"Is this for me?" She asked, staring down at the pancakes. There was some sort of strawberry sauce over them. Oh, yeah, these must be the strawberries that were going rotten in the refrigerator.

"Your strawberries looked suspicious so I put them in," Jim said. "They wouldn't have lasted. I hope you don't mind."

He wasn't looking at her like a sex object. He wasn't treating her differently because he'd seen her in a towel.

"That's totally fine," she whispered, her voice almost giving out. Embarrassingly, she felt tears rising up so she sat down and quickly took a bite.

"OJ or milk?" He questioned.

"OJ," she replied, and he deftly maneuvered pouring a glass for her without once jostling Sam.

Oh god.

The pancakes were amazing.

Kevin never stepped foot in a kitchen. He was utterly uneased with children, even his own...especially his own. He'd loved Melinda pregnant, but that was for how she looked...how her breasts increased in size and she basically became a fetish and oh, the children were both accidents. Beautiful, wonderful, wouldn't change it for the world accidents, but did Kevin have to be their father?

She took another bite.

Jim was a miracle.

* * *

After her meeting, and after a celebratory coffee with Rick, Melinda practically speeded home, not because she didn't trust Jim...but because she wanted to see him again.

She walked in the door to find him on the floor, playing a game with Will. 

"Whoa, games in the front hallway?" She questioned, taking a step back.

"Yeah, the track had to expand," Jim said. "Thomas and Percy have a very important delivery in the kitchen."

"Okay," she said. "Wow. Will, babe, why don't you take Edward to check on Thomas?"

"Okay," Will said, scrambling up and going to the kitchen.

"Hey," Jim said warmly, slowly getting to his feet. His shoes were off. She wondered what that meant. "How'd your big meeting go?"

"I have high hopes," Melinda replied. "So does Rick, my brain partner."

He grinned. "That's good. I assume that'll mean some sort of promotion?"

"Hopefully," she smiled. "So I think we need to talk terms."

His smile grew even bigger, if that were possible.

"This position...it's live in, right?" He questioned.

She felt her world stop, forgetting that she'd added that option. "Why?" She stammered.

"It's just, the lease on my apartment is up. Do I sign a new one, or...live here?" He paused. "I'm making you uncomfortable."

"No, that's a very legitimate question," Melinda said. "God, I mean. That's my dream. I need someone else here at all hours. Or most hours. Um. But I confess I hadn't considered that being...a person of the...male gender."

His eyes softened. "He really did a number on you," he said softly. "Your ex."

"Unfortunately, not ex, not for a few more months, since his attorney is dragging his feet," Melinda bit out. "And yes, he did the best one he could and that is saying something."

Jim shoved his hands in his pockets. "So we should get back to talking terms," he apologized.

"Yeah," she said, feeling her mouth go dry as she looked up at this man.

* * *

Four months.

Four months Jim had been with her and she didn't know how she'd lived without him. He just made life better. In every possible way.

She had time to play with her kids. She had time to work. On nights when she was just beyond exhausted, and Sam woke up crying... Jim was there. A kind of support she'd never known. Going from a fatherless household to a supportless marriage... Had weakened Melinda. It had hurt her, time after time.

And now. Jim was 'just' the nanny. But he was so beyond that.

Take right now. She looked up from her desk and through the open door of her study, to where she could see Jim sitting and reading with Will. Her heart ached at the beauty of it.

Jim looked up and caught her staring at him. In the previous months, Melinda would have looked away. Jim would have too.

But there had been moments. Times when she went to check on Sam and found Jim already there. Of course to remain professional he always wore full pajamas. Except one night. Jim usually had the weekends off. He'd go and see friends. Get back late.

Melinda would get time with Sam and Will, and Jim would return to sleep and be gone again on early Sunday.

She'd agreed to the live in clause partly because it was less money. And did not want Kevin's help. Ever.

And partly because she honestly needed that kind of help.

And partly because of the emotions that had coursed through her looking into Jim's eyes that first day.

And one night, Saturday night, Melinda had dropped off to sleep after a long day negotiating things with Rick, and, admittedly, negotiating with a cranky Will and Sam too. She woke up to hear Sam crying and stumbled out of bed, wearing a long sweatshirt and nothing else. She got to the nursery only to find Jim there. A shirtless Jim.

"I just got in and was undressing when we started crying," Jim explained hastily, not wanting to be taken the wrong way. "Thought I'd save you a trip. This is inappropriate, isn't it? I'm sorry."

Melinda just couldn't speak. His arms. The muscles there. She...she found herself imagining, wishing, really, for those arms to be around her. Kevin had been a slim man. Up until Jim...she hadn't necessarily liked men with muscles for the simple fact that they terrified her. And now. Jim.

He was her standard. He turned and she could see the delineated muscles of his chest. Her mouth went dry, and she could not stop staring at his pectorals.

She was stepping forward, bare legs carrying her onward. She was staring. And reaching out to touch.

At the last moment she reached both arms out. "I can take her," she managed to say. "It's your day off."

Her hands were shaking. She brushed against his pecs and her heart skipped a very painful beat. Jim was staring. His body was burning hot and it was all she could do to pull her hands away, taking Sam with her. Her arms felt heavy. They didn't want to return to her wanted Jim to support them, hold them, love them.

"I don't mind," Jim said hoarsely, as unable to look away from her as she was from him.

"Yeah, but it's not your job and you seem to like early church services," Melinda rasped in return. "I just fell asleep harder than I should have and didn't hear Sam crying. Usually I take her into my room...when you're gone."

The words hung between them, before Melinda backed up and left, not daring to look back at him for what she might see in his eyes.

There were other times. Simpler moments. When she got home from work and Jim was there, playing with her kids, loving them, cherishing them. Reading books at all times of the day, not just bedtime. Will was going to have high literacy skills and he'd learn to love books too, Jim explained. These things had to be started early.

She'd be in the kitchen or wherever and Jim would come in, holding Sam or Will and explain that they needed a moment with mommy. That instant, that moment, movement of transfer, when both of them were holding on to the child...it was like nothing else that Melinda had ever experienced. It was like partnership. True partnership. How parents should work together but rarely did.

Or on Jim's day off, even while Will delighted in having his mother around, he'd still sometimes ask after Jim. "Is Jim coming home?" He'd ask when the day grew late, on Jim's first weekend off.

"Yeah, baby, he is," Melinda promised, but Will had been so restless that night that when Jim had indeed come home, she'd woken up Will to tell him that Jim was there.

She was falling deep. Her family was falling with her.

* * *

"Mel, all I'm saying is that, this deal is big," Rick said, following her into the house. They were both laden down with files and images and ideas.

"I can take some of this," Jim offered, hearing them come in.

"Ooh, he's a butler too?" Rick asked, unloading like a camel onto Jim.

"Ignore him," Melinda said. "He hasn't had his daily dose of human yet."

"You mean tea?" Rick said. "Because coffee is so bad for you, Mel."

"Go ahead and make your tea; you know where the kitchen is," Melinda sighed, and he hurried off to set a pot on to boil. She turned to Jim. "Seriously, Rick is a character. I love him to death, but don't take him too seriously."

"He calls you Mel?" Jim asked.

"Yeah," she replied.

"That's...nice," Jim said. "Cute."

"Is it? I think Rick's just too lazy to say the whole three syllables," Melinda joked.

"No, nicknames aren't about lazyness," Jim insisted. "They're about fondness, about talking to someone so frequently that there isn't time to say the whole word."

She stared at him for a moment. "James and Jim take about the say time to say," she told him, repeating them to prove it. "James. Jim."

He couldn't look away as she said the words. "Mel."

"Jim," she whispered.

"Rick," Rick announced, poking his head back in. "Anyone else want tea?"

"Since it will be caffeine free, definitely," Melinda said.

"No, I should be getting back to the kids," Jim said. "Thanks." He disappeared as softly and quickly as he'd come and Melinda followed Rick to the kitchen, slipping her heels off along the way.

"So he's something," Rick said. "I know you said you had a male nanny now but I was picturing some sort of grandpa or gay young man. Not Mr. Buff in there."

"He's not just a musclehead," Melinda defended.

"I know," Rick said. "Believe me, you've told me enough about him that I've got him memorized."

"What can I say?" Melinda said seriously, taking a mug down. "He saved me. I don't know what I would have done if I'd had to hire one of those neurotic females who were busier than I was. It didn't make sense."

"Says the neurotic female who was possibly just like them ten years ago," Rick nudged.

"Maybe," Melinda admitted. "But it's also so good for them to have a male figure around the house. Especially Will. You know that towards the end...he was terrified of Kevin. It's...beautiful to see him having a healthy relationship with a man."

"I know," Rick said quietly. "But Mel?"

"Yeah?" She asked.

"Be careful," he said, pronouncing the words firmly.

"I'm always careful," she shot back.

"Not this time," he whispered, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You're in so deep, Melinda Gordon."

* * *

"All I know is that I walked into the meeting and then discovered that I'd forgotten my plans, my portfolio, my everything!" Melinda complained to Delia. "I'd left them in the car, and I had to leave and run down five flights of stairs because the elevator was out so not only was I late and panicked, I was sweaty, late and panicked."

"Aw, I'm sorry, Melinda," Delia said. "But that's why I came to take you out to lunch. We're still on, right? Because I told Andrea to meet us at the restaurant."

"Good," Melinda said. "Otherwise I might have said no just no from sheer misery and I think I really need this lunch."

"You do," Delia emphasized, leading her from the building as Melinda shrugged into her jacket and pulled her ponytail out from the collar.

They had an easy conversation as they walked to the restaurant, talking about how Delia's real estate ventures were going, how things were with her son, how they were coping now.

"It's hard," Delia said finally. "Losing someone...that's never easy. But I'd almost choose it over...divorce. You know? If it was someone I loved. Don't hate me for saying it, Melinda."

"I don't," Melinda said firmly. "I believe you. Sometimes I think it would have been better if Kevin had died before he turned...abusive. If I could remember him as he used to be, for the sake of my kids and they're his kids. That's the hard part."

"How are you guys all hanging on?" Delia asked. "Here we've been talking about me. Is the nanny really doing a good job?"

"Jim is amazing," Melinda said.

"I mean, I know that all forms of sexism is wrong, but you really feel no qualms about him living there? Being a part of your kids' lives?" Delia said.

"You need to meet Jim," Melinda said firmly. "I mean yes, definitely, I had a million doubts. But they all disappeared. He's...a family man. Without a family of his own, so even if he wasn't doting on my kids, he'd be doting on his brother's. And he still is. He's always telling me about something that Coby or Grace did, in great detail."

"But why doesn't he have a family of his own then?" Delia asked. "Don't you always have to ask that question? What was wrong with him that a thirty-something man of his looks and...temperament isn't married? Is he gay?"

"No," Melinda protested. "No, I mean...there are always reasons. Sometimes we just meet the wrong people. I think there was someone in his past, someone big. It was a broken engagement or she cheated, I'm not sure. But he just stopped dating then, from what I gather."

"Weird," Delia said, as they walked in through the restaurant doors. "Hey, we're meeting someone. The Banks party, please."

"Of course, she's already waiting," the maitre d' answered, taking two more menus. "Follow me, please."

Melinda and Delia followed easily, going through the expensive restaurant and noticing the people there. Delia knew a lot them; at times they'd been her clients. Melinda knew a lot of them from all of the advertising ideas she'd pitched to them over the years and they ended up pausing at one table.

Andrea stood up in excitement when they walked up. "What took you guys so long? I've been so bored."

"My meeting went over, I messed up," Melinda said, hugging her friend tightly. "It was terrible. I need you to cheer me up."

"Oh, no, did you lose the pitch?" Andrea asked, hugging her tightly back.

"Probably, unless Nike wants to pitch an idea that they're new shoes will make you slow and forgetful," Melinda joked. "Can I have a Manhattan?"

She relaxed into the conversation, as Andrea joked around and Delia kept a calmer hand on the conversation, relishing the company of these women and holding it to her heart closely. She needed this.

"Melinda."

She looked up, and there was Kevin.

Andrea and Delia beside her both tensed, both angered for her in an instant.

"What are you doing here?" Delia asked, while Melinda was still gathering her thoughts.

"It's a public restaurant," Kevin responded. "And I wasn't talking to you." He looked at Melinda, his eyes narrowing on her: on the low cut, fitted white suit she'd worn for the meeting, on the heart necklace that he hadn't given her, to the shoes on her feet that were a few inches higher than he liked to see her in.

"Hey, Kevin," she said, waving Delia and Andrea down, but put her hand up on the table, so that Andrea could take it. She still needed the support and she knew that she was holding on to Andrea in a white knuckled grip.

"We've been dancing about this with our attorneys for months," Kevin said smoothly. "I'd like to remind you that I'm getting supervised visitation this weekend. With my children."

"Our children," Melinda said. "Yes. You'll be coming to the house at twelve tomorrow...with your pastor's wife there to watch while you go out. If she's not there, nothing doing, Kevin."

"She'll be there," Kevin said coolly. "Some people know how to keep their word."

She tried to not take the comment personally but found that it still stung. After all this time, he was still so...self-absorbed, narcissistic, as to think that it was her fault? That she was the one to break her word?

And yet, maybe she was.

* * *

"Will's running a mild fever," Jim said, coming into Melinda's room early Saturday morning. She was still in bed; this was the first time he'd ever done this but there was a look of panic on his face.

"Really?" Melinda asked, throwing the blankets back. She was wearing only a short nightgown and grabbed her robe quickly, tying it around her. "You don't know why? It just came on today?"

"I've already taken his temperature twice," Jim explained, hurrying after her.

They reached Will's room instantly, reaching his bed at almost the same moment.

"Hey, baby," she whispered, combing his hair back from his forehead with her hand. "How do you feel?"

"I'm hot," Will whispered. "I don't feel good."

"We've got child dosage Tylenol in the cabinet," Melinda told Jim, and he left and was back in a moment, holding it.

"We're going to give you some medicine, baby," she whispered, scooping Will into her arms and holding him close while Jim measured out the dosage and gave it to Will. "It's bubblegum flavored. You'll like it."

"No," Will said.

"Hey, remember what we talked about yesterday?" Jim asked. "About adults knowing best sometimes? You have to take it, buddy. It'll make you feel better."

Will opened his mouth and let Jim pour it down. "Umph," he said, turning to bury his head in Melinda's shoulder.

"I need to cancel visitation," Melinda said. "Can you take him while I call Kevin's attorney?"

"Yeah, come here, buddy," Jim said.

"I'm so sorry, Jim, I know this is your day off," Melinda said, pausing by the doorway.

"Are you kidding me? I won't leave him like this," Jim responded.

She slipped from the room, picked up the hall phone and dialed quickly.

She got his voice mail. Fair enough, it was Saturday morning.

"Hey, Attorney Jacobs, this is Melinda Gordon. Listen, Will is running a fever of—"

"100.5," Jim called from the nursery.

"100.5. Can you let Kevin know that visitation is not a good idea today?" She left her number and hung up. "It was his voicemail," she called to Jim. "I don't know if he'll get it in time."

"What about the pastor's wife, or whatever? Or Kevin?" Jim asked cautiously.

She leaned against the doorway. "Kevin and I aren't supposed to speak to each other directly without an intermediary present," she said. "Because we've both filed charges against each other regarding the kids, you know."

"Got it," Jim said.

"And I don't know Pastor Tim's wife's number; the bulletin only has the office numbers," Melinda said.

"So you know her, though?" Jim wondered, worry in his voice.

"Calista? Yeah, we used to go his church as a family, but..." Melinda began. "It's like they picked sides. Or Kevin said something. All I know is I wasn't welcome there anymore. So I haven't been going anywhere."

Jim nodded solemnly. "That's hard," he said simply. "Melinda, my church is...easygoing. Nonjudgmental. I'd love it if you came with me. Our pastor really knows how to touch souls."

"I'll consider it," Melinda said.

* * *

After several voicemails later, Melinda still hadn't gotten through to anyone, and at twelve, two cars pulled up outside.

Jim was in the kitchen, holding Will close; the boy was wrapped in a blanket.

He came into the hall, hovering behind Melinda as Melinda opened the door.

The first look on Kevin's face was shock. "Who the...who's this, Melinda?"

"This is my nanny, Kevin, your attorney had you sign the documents approving him," Melinda said, now knowing for a fact that Kevin wasn't reading anything (as usual) and hadn't even cared, until now, that the nanny was male. Or realized it.

"Nannies are women," Kevin said fiercely.

"Well, Kevin, it's a changing world," Calista reminded. "Hello, Melinda. It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you, Calista," Melinda said coolly. "This is Jim. Kevin, I've been calling your attorney all morning; I called Calista's church's office, I even called you a few times. Will has a fever. It is not safe for him to go out like this."

Kevin rolled his eyes. "Melinda, you can't get out of this now, all right?" He turned to Calista and they exchanged expressions, as if they'd expected this.

"Listen, Melinda, I know you have attachment issues, but this is Kevin's judge ordered visitation time with Will," Calista said. "We have the order here."

"He's sick," Melinda said. "There is a provision for that."

Calista and Kevin again exchanged glances. "What's his temp?"

"It's gone down to 99.5, but it used to be 100.5," Jim offered.

There was a look of pure fury on Kevin's face when Jim offered the information.

"That's in the realm of yes," Calista said. "It's not life threatening and it won't endanger him to spend time with his daddy. It might make him feel better. We have the order here, Melinda. Isn't it bad enough that you've cowed the judge into not letting Kevin see his daughter?"

Melinda felt how tense Jim was behind her. She turned and carefully took Will from his arms.

"I spoke with my attorney, I won't get in trouble if I don't hand Will over to you," Melinda said. "It counts under the guidelines."

Calista's face was like stone, and Kevin moved into the house, pushing Melinda aside and reaching for Will.

"Kevin, he's sick," Melinda said.

"He's my son," Kevin returned, shoving her against the door so he could Will from her.

There was a resounding crack. Kevin fell backwards against the stairs.

Next to her, Jim was shaking out his hand.

"We're getting the fucking police," Kevin said. "Calista, let's go."

* * *

Jim now had assault charges against him, but Melinda didn't care. That night, Will was safe in his bed and so was Sam. She'd spoken with her attorney and Riley had assured her that they could get Jim off easily, and that, again, they should suffer no repercussions for keeping Will back when he was sick.

Melinda found herself in Jim's room, after knocking and gaining entrance. She'd rarely been inside since he'd moved in and couldn't help looking around with a bit of wonder at how different it looked.

"Hey, so...I need to thank you," Melinda said, shoving her hands in her pockets. "Maybe in terms of legalness it wasn't the best move to punch Kevin, but god knows, he's had it coming to him for a long time. I've just never had the courage."

"I was glad to do it," Jim said. He was sitting on his bed, still in his usual jeans and a sweater. It had an open neck, revealing the sinews in his neck and a bit of his chest. "I'm glad you approve. I was afraid you'd think I was overstepping my bounds."

"I'd never think that," Melinda said, and walked forward. "I...there have been so many things you've done for me, Jim. For my family. How am I supposed to thank you?"

Jim stood up, a full head and shoulders taller than her, but it just made her more confident. "I'm not asking for thanks, Melinda."

"That's why I love you," Melinda whispered. Rising up on her toes, she pressed her lips against his.

There was a moment where he hesitated, held back.

His lips were throbbing against hers, hot and warm and wet.

And then his arms were sliding around her, like she'd always wanted them to. Strong and big, safe and encompassing.

His lips moved against hers, took over the kiss. It was passionate and beautiful, and oh so mutual.

He was lifting her against him; she threw her legs around his waist and held on tight. He was laying her back on the bed, spreading her...

"We can't," he said, breaking the kiss.

"Why not?" She asked, breathing hard.

"You're still married, Mel," he managed to say, resting his forehead on hers. "I want to. God, how I want to."

"Jim," she whimpered. "I need you."

"And you'll get me, I promise," he said. "The day your divorce is finalized. You will not believe how good it'll be, Melinda."

She pressed against him. "I can," she whispered, making them both moan aloud.

"Please, Mel, I can't do this over again, I can't be that guy," he begged.

"What happened?" She asked, her hands roving over his chest, going under his shirt.

"She left me for someone else," he said, giving in to her ministrations, just a bit. "Someone close to both of us. It was supposed to last forever, Mel. I can't do this with you...unless I know that you're mine. Mine forever. And I'll be yours, Mel. I swear."

She moaned, making him groan with frustration and desire in return.

"Okay," she finally whispered. "I understand."

"Do you?" He asked, eyes vulnerable.

"I do," she promised, and sat up on the bed, untangling herself from him.

He sat next to her, and they both just breathed in and out for a few long moments.

"It's about five weeks," Melinda said. "Until the trial."

"I've been counting the days since you announced it two weeks ago," Jim said, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

"Now we can count them together," Melinda promised, turning and pressing her lips to his again, this time in promise.

Five weeks. Thirty-five days. Eight hundred and forty hours.

Then they would be together.


	2. High School Teachers AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's a gym teacher. She's teaching English and has no idea why. They're both unhappy with their lives, and their current relationships, but it's going to take a lot for them to change anything.

"I wonder all the time why I became a teacher."

The words hung in the air for a moment.

"Really? Because you seem to love the work."

Melinda sighed, looking out over the empty classroom. "It's easy to be passionate about something like this, you know? I mean, you're teaching people to read and write. But your students aren't passionate too. They're listless and they don't pay attention."

"How did you end up a high school English teacher then?" Jim asked.

"The same why you ended up as the PE teacher," Melinda sighed in response. "It was the only thing that was hiring after I got my degree and certifications."

"At least we ended up at the same school," Jim said. "I can't imagine not walking in here and seeing your smile every day. It gets me through the geeks who insist that they can't run or play sports. I mean, I get it. Not everyone has talent. But these kids are honestly not trying. And I just want people to be healthy. Honest, Melinda."

"I know," Melinda said, glancing up at him as she graded papers. "And all I want is for them to be literate, but that's not going to happen."

They shared a rueful laugh.

"I hated high school," Melinda confessed, after another moment. "It was the worst period of my life. Once I even considered asking my mom to home school me but god knows that that would have been even worse."

"Then it's even more amazing that you're here, and still sane after three years," Jim said lightly.

"And how," Melinda said. "Though it hasn't changed. The same girls think I'm a loser. The same guys stare at my body and don't consider anything that might emerge from the area of my face."

Jim didn't laugh along with her on this one; his face hardened a bit and his discreetly made themselves into fists.

"I can still tell when the guys are just staring at my ass, you know," Melinda said. "I almost hoped that that super sense would fade with time but, unfortunately, I am not that blessed. Every time. And they're always talking too, when they think I can't hear them but I can." She sighed. "But you must deal with that, to a certain extent. Girls thinking that flirting with you will get them an easy pass or something."

"A little," Jim said, reaching up to scratch his neck and Melinda followed the motion with her eyes.

"I mean, you're hot, everyone must have a crush on you," she said lightly, not noticing the flush on Jim's face, or the light in his eyes at hearing her say that. "Do you ever get the feeling that girls are staring at you and just having sexual fantasies?"

Jim coughed. "No, I can't say that I do," he said honestly. "Though I might start now."

Melinda laughed, and Jim laughed with her after a beat.

"It must have been fate that led us both to this school," Melinda reflected, standing up and gathering together her students' papers. "I mean, I was completely dreading my first day. And then there was the friendliest guy in school, showing me around and making sure that I didn't embarrass myself."

She smiled up at him. "What did I do to deserve such special treatment?" She wondered to him, starting from her classroom, flipping off the light switch as she went. For a moment while she opened the door they stood there together in the dark. She could sense his muscular, tall body close behind her and she quickly opened the door, dismissing such thoughts. They had such a good relationship. She didn't want to ruin it by introducing sex into it.

And she wasn't stupid enough (in her mind) to think that a wonderful guy like Jim and a dowdy little girl like her could ever have more than that or that Jim would even enjoy it. He must have had so much experience with girls who actually knew how to do it.

No, she had grown up after high school. She was no longer naive enough to think that people looked beyond outside trappings. Melinda was just a tiny English teacher. Jim was a PE teacher, sure, but he could be anything, and could definitely have anyone that he wanted.

She just knew that it wasn't her, even though she thought he might think that sometimes. It was just because they were friends. If things ever did go farther...he'd regret it. She knew he would.

* * *

Jim followed Melinda out the door of her classroom, hands shoved in his pockets because that was the only way he knew how to ensure that he wouldn't reach out and touch her, guide her through the rest of the school. The last time he'd been able to do that s on his welcome tour for her three years ago. Now she'd just take it the wrong way.

It was also a safety precaution in case they came across any of Melinda's male students who might still be there. Because Jim wasn't sure that he wouldn't punch the guy for ever making Melinda feel uncomfortable. It wasn't her fault that she had to face the board a lot of the time. Neither was it her fault that her body...he felt a little lightheaded at the thought of checking her out right now, dressed as she was in a professional pencil skirt and sleeveless sweater...was amazing, with curves in just the right places to make a man wild, and angles and muscles to make any woman admire too.

He loved these nights when he ambled down to Melinda's classroom and they just talked for hours, about anything and everything. He'd stay there while she graded papers, occasionally reading the more amusing snippets from them.

_Hamlet is a play where someone tries to kill his uncle and instead everyone else dies._

_To Kill a Mockingbird was the first novel written by James Joyce, followed shortly by The Great Gatsby._

Her students didn't really try. Melinda always complained that no one really read the assignments; they merely learned the parts online and guessed at it. He loved to watch the way her brow would furrow over particularly troubling parts, and yet how reluctantly she took up her red pen to start circling.

"I don't want to fail my students," she'd say earnestly.

He was always only barely able to remind her that, actually, they were failing themselves.

Melinda, ahead of them, turned to glance behind her. "Coming?" She wondered.

"Do you want to go out for drinks, continue talking there?" Jim asked. He asked this every once in awhile, and her answer was always the same.

"Not tonight," she shrugged. "It's an early morning for both of us..."

"I know," he said, and as they left the school building, he moved a little closer through the night air.

"You don't have to walk me to my car every night," Melinda said, brushing hair from her eyes, blown into her face by the wind.

"You never know who might be lurking around the parking lot, even at this time of night," Jim explained.

"Well, thanks, then," she said, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

She was so beautiful. He wished...he wished he was smarter. He wished she didn't think of him as just a PE teacher. Yes, there was a difference in their educations. He'd gotten a degree in Sports Medicine and she'd gone for English. That didn't mean she was better than him.

Not that he believed that Melinda thought that. He honestly didn't know why she resisted the idea of them dating so strongly. Yes, it was against faculty guidelines but it wasn't against guidelines to...find out. To see if they wanted to risk it. Did she love her job so much?

No, he knew that wasn't true from how she spoke of it.

So that left only one, uncomfortable option: she, whether intentionally or unknowingly, thought she was better than him. And Jim respected that. She was, after all. She was smart and quick to answer questions. She had a sort of intuition that made her one of the hardest teachers to fool or cheat in her class.

And she was out of his league. That was the best way to put it. She, of course, didn't think she was better than him. But, in his heart of hearts, Jim knew that she'd never even think to consider him.

He placed his hand on her shoulder for all too brief a moment as they reached her car. "Drive safely," he said, opening her car door after she used the clicker to unlock it.

"Yeah, thanks," she whispered, glancing up at him again, before getting inside. Jim shut the door carefully and stood in the parking lot until she'd driven away.

* * *

The next day at Grandview High started too early, when Jim got a call telling him to be in the principal's office an hour before school started, and when he opened the door to find Melinda there, he had a sudden, crazy feeling that they were in trouble for spending too much time together. And, oddly, he was excited, to see some confirmation of something that didn't exist between them.

"Hey, what's up? It's good to see you, Mr. James, as always," Jim said, holding out his hand for the man to shake.

"Good to see you, Jim," Eli replied. "And call me Eli. I keep telling my teachers that," he said in an aside to Melinda. "They always ignore me. You included."

"It feels odd," Melinda said, ducking her head.

"Well, okay," Eli said. "Listen, I wanted to ask you guys for a favor. Don't get me wrong: if you refuse, your jobs are still here. It's just that the Board has voted to add on a few more classes, elective type things. They're going to vote next week on what classes will be chosen, I think the pool is something like another music class, poetry, some sort of supernatural thing..."

He picked up a sheet of paper on his desk. "Yeah, there's some kook on the board who's pushing for this supernatural studies course," he said. "And I guess they're the one with the power because that's the only one with a likelihood of succeeding at this point."

"Sorry, Mr. James. Eli," Jim corrected. "What does this have to do with us?" He waved his hand between himself and Melinda, feeling a tingle at the thought of there ever being an 'us' between him and the other teacher.

"I want you two to coordinate a team to get the students together to decide on what class they want," Eli said. "It's a lot of crap but the Board has decided that one class gets to be decided by the students."

"If you'll pardon me for asking," Melinda said. "What exactly is this going to add to our workload?"

"You always get to the point," Eli chuckled. "I knew there was a reason I liked you. It's honestly a cake position. You guys will supervise a few free periods where you'll have the students talk over the options, and then you'll be the ones in charge of the votes."

Jim looked at Melinda, and she looked back at him. "Okay," she said, after a beat. "I'm in."

"So am I," Jim said, hopefully not too soon after Melinda.

"Great, you're the third duo I've asked," Eli said, relief evident in his voice. "I'm already interviewing for the supernatural studies teacher, though."

"Oh?" Melinda asked, standing up. She was wearing a sundress and sweater combo that made Jim yearn for fields of green grass to run through with her ahold of his hand.

"Yeah, the Board is pushing for it," Eli said. "I've got a Rick Payne coming in later."

Jim couldn't help but laugh at the name.

"Exactly!" Eli said. "And I've heard he lives up to the name."

"Come on, Mel," Jim chuckled, casually taking her arm to lead her from the office but Melinda had paused at the name, and gently removed her arm from his grip.

He stood back, stung. Okay, he usually didn't touch her like that but it still hurt how quickly she'd pulled away.

"Rick...Payne?" Melinda wondered.

"Yeah, I'm supposed to be calling him now, actually," Eli said. "Before the school day starts. Thanks, you two."

He waved them from his office and Jim held the door open for Melinda, feeling more awkward and less needed every moment that she hesitated, until she was finally out the door and he carefully followed her.

"What's up?" He asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Who's Rick Payne to you?"

Melinda flushed a deep red; a color he'd never before seen on her cheeks. "No one," she said, a little too quickly. "I need to get to my classroom."

He stood in the hallway for far too long, just staring after her.

* * *

Rick Payne.

Oh, god, this wasn't happening.

Her mind flew to thoughts of late nights...of bare skin...of the taste of his lips on hers...

She was breathing hard, and she couldn't stop.

This couldn't be happening. He was a college professor, for god's sake. What was he doing applying at a little high school in the middle of nowhere?

Melinda flew into her classroom, feeling her cheeks burn, and pressed her hands to them in a futile effort to cool herself down.

She sat in her classroom, doing absolutely nothing, until the students started coming in, and even then it was only at the bell that she jerked out of her trance and stood up to pass out the papers from the night before.

"So you guys obviously need to work just a bit harder on your reading," she said, passing them out quickly as she moved between the desks. "I'm not sure why but several of you seemed very confused by who exactly wrote _To Kill a Mockingbird_ and it's really not that hard an answer. Good job, Aaron."

She smiled down at one of her only good students, a dark haired boy who also played soccer.

"Derek, can I see you after class?" She questioned.

Papers done, she faced the class.

"Today we're talking about _The Scarlet Letter_ ," she began. "It's basic premise is the scandal of an unwed mother..."

She trailed off, her thoughts going elsewhere.

She was speaking, she knew that. She was giving the same talk on _The Scarlet Letter_ that she always gave. But her mind wasn't in it. Her mind was on her own scarlet letter: Rick Payne.

* * *

"Derek, can you realize that this is a problem?" Melinda wondered after all of her students but Derek had filtered out.

"What?" He wondered, looking anywhere but her. It was funny. He'd always been such a good student: a bit quiet, not the best grades, but he always tried hard. Lately though, even though she'd heard he was volunteering at the community center, he'd started to have a problem with authority figures. Always an outgoing boy, now it was hard for him to meet adults' eyes.

"James Joyce didn't write _To Kill a Mockingbird_ or _The Great Gatsby,_ " Melinda said.

"I know that," he said, scratching his neck uncomfortably. "But my mind blanked during the essay portion."

"It wasn't a test, Derek," she said easily. "It was just a homework assignment." She sighed, handing him his paper back. "Is there something going on? At home, or elsewhere?"

She did know that his father had died when Derek was younger. Maybe that was becoming more of an issue; maybe his mom was having trouble with money.

"No, nothing," Derek said, too easily, too quickly. "Can I go now?"

"Yeah," she said, and the boy loped from the classroom.

* * *

She met Jim after school to talk over what their duties were; this was probably the first time that she'd gone to him instead of the other way around. His office was next to the gym, and a much smaller environment than her classroom was.

She knocked hesitantly, and Jim looked up to see her there.

The look on his face was utter shock, and then he leaped up and opened the door for her.

"Melinda! What brings you here?" He asked.

"Our duties," she answered. "I picked up some paperwork from Mr. James and we're supposed to sort through it."

"I could have come to you," he said, hands in his pockets.

"Yeah, but I was talking to him when the paperwork came in, so whatever," Melinda said, shrugging her shoulders.

He quickly moved into action, clearing his desk off and the chair in front of it. "Sorry, it's a bit of a mess," he said distractedly, piling some papers rather precariously on top of a file cabinet. "No one actually ever comes in here but me."

"Really?" She asked, startled.

"Yeah, I mean, I'm not allowed to give any sort of first aid, so the students go to the nurse for that," Jim said. "So I don't get students here and when do the faculty need to talk with the lowly PE teacher? It's not like I'm the football coach."

"Oh," Melinda said, as he pulled out a chair and she sat down slowly.

"So we need to go over this," Jim said.

"Sort it out," Melinda said.

They worked in silence for the first half hour. Melinda's eyes crept around his office; how small it was and how cramped. How Jim, relaxed in his own environment, had propped his legs up on his desk almost unconsciously.

How his shirt strained at his arms as he went through the stack of papers, sorting everything out.

"You have Derek Morgan in gym, right?" She finally asked, her mind circling around to something else.

"Yeah," Jim said, brow crinkling. "Why do you ask?"

"Has his behavior been off recently?" She asked.

"I...it has," Jim finally said. "He's been quieter, hasn't been performing as well. I know that he had been talking about going out for football but I haven't seen any sign of that recently."

"Thought so," Melinda said. "But I have no idea what's going on, if it's here or at home, or anything."

They were quiet again.

* * *

Their extra assignment turned out to mean not much more than spending more time together, sorting through paperwork in a small, enclosed room for days after school.

Melinda could feel herself getting antsy during these times. Maybe it was the thought of seeing Rick again and wanting to be at a different place in her life, and maybe it was just the lack of distance between Jim and herself, but the air seemed to have become electric between them.

Every time their hands touched the same piece of paper, Melinda's eyes would jerk up to meet his and they'd just stare at each other for a moment before returning to their separate stacks.

They 'taught' a few classes together, supervising a group of teenagers that refused to give any actual ideas.

At the end of it, when they were preparing to leave, it was like their arms would grow heavier. Jim would go through the motions of turning out the light and locking the door so slowly it was like he was moving through mud.

And then he'd turn around and meet her gaze, and her mouth would go dry and they'd just look at each other for some more long moments.

"Do you want to go out for drinks?" Jim asked, after a week of meeting every day after school.

The board had voted and so had the students. The new classes were indeed the supernatural studies one and the students had voted for was the poetry class. Mr. James had decided against hiring another teacher for the poetry class and Melinda had been warned by him that she might be offered the job.

She had felt exhausted at just the thought of doing it, of taking on another class that didn't really call to her, of working with more students who wouldn't really care. She'd like to think that the students had voted for poetry because they actually wanted to take it, but had a feeling and a memory of students choosing it simply since poetry was easier to fake than learning a musical instrument.

"Sure," she said, just feeling tired and wanting a way to relax.

Jim paused, before looking at her in complete surprise. "I...I was going to say, no problem, never mind, but you said yes," he laughed.

Melinda managed to laugh with him. "I've said no to you for a long time now," she mused as they started off down the hallway. "I guess this is your lucky night."

"That's one way to put it," he murmured, the look on his face making her tingle, and the rumble of his voice making her feel even more buzzed.

"Let's take your car," Melinda suggested as they reached the parking lot. "I don't know any of the bars in town so it'd just be easier."

"Okay," Jim said, and they changed course to his pickup. Melinda felt a new tickle in her stomach when he opened the door and offered her his hand so that she could step up into the tall cab.

"Thanks," she murmured, his hand dragging down her arm in a slow motion that made her breathe in sharply.

After closing her door for her, he walked around to the other side of the pickup quickly, almost jogging, as though he thought she'd still change her mind.

* * *

Melinda was actually in his pickup. She was actually sitting next to him, nervously rubbing her hands up and down her legs. Her skirt rode up now that she was sitting, revealing her knees and a bit of thigh.

Oh, Melinda.

Jim started the engine and cruised from the parking lot. He was trying to think of something to say, but ended up turning on the radio instead.

_Let's give them something to talk about_

A female singer sang, about people who gossipped no matter what was really happening, so why didn't the singer and her lover do something so that at least the gossipers weren't just shooting the breeze.

_How about love?_

He inhaled sharply, wanting to do exactly as the song said.

He wasn't able to think of anything to say, and so stayed quiet.

Melinda, next to him, was almost quieter. The air between them seemed to get heavier; it became harder to breathe.

"Here we are," he finally said, voice hoarse.

He stepped down from the cab and went quickly around to open Melinda's door.

She swung her legs around to get down, but then hesitated at the large step. He reached out and put his hands on her waist without thinking about it, without letting himself think.

She was soft, but he could feel the strength of her core as he lifted her down. She was warm. She made a noise of surprise; a squeak in the back of her throat that froze him.

And he couldn't bare to let go of her. She was too warm, too beautiful, too close to him.

Too willing to let him do this.

He finally relinquished hold and hurried them both inside. It was a slightly classier-than-usual Irish pub, filled with tired businessmen rather than drunks and prostitutes.

They ordered and sat at the bar, not looking at each other. Not daring to look at each other.

Their drinks came and, when reaching for them at the same time, their hands brushed. Jim's heartbeat increased to an almost painful speed, and he turned to look at his companion as he raised his glass to his lips.

"What should I say?" He wondered aloud. "Cheers? That sounds wrong."

"To your health?" Melinda said, pausing before drinking.

"Here, this isn't a drinking toast, but my mom taught me this one," Jim began.

 _May the road rise up to meet you._  
_May the wind be always at your back.  
_ _May the sun shine warm upon your face;  
_ _the rains fall soft upon your fields  
_ _and until we meet again,  
_ _may God hold you in the palm of His hand._

He spoke the words of the blessing slowly, looking into Melinda's eyes. At about the third line of the poem she drank her shot in one smooth motion, tossing her neck back and down the liquid went down her throat. His eyes were caught by how her hair was rippling; by the highlights now displayed as they were hit by the lights in the bar.

Her eyes were bright when she turned back to face him, listening intently to his voice.

"That's better than mine, though..." She reached out to touch his hand. "We're not saying goodbye, Jim, not yet."

"No, I hope not," he managed to say, the touch of her hand frying his brain beyond belief.

She ducked her head down, covering her face from view with her hair, but she kept her hand on his. He couldn't look away from the sight: her tiny hand covering his larger one. Barely covering. Not even covering.

His ever romantic side kicked in, and so, perhaps, did the alcohol. Moving his hand quickly, he flipped it over and captured her hand in his own.

She had soft hands, smooth and pale.

He was moving his thumb over the back of it, then he was fingering around her wrist, moving down to her palm, all without stopping staring at her.

She turned her head to look at him.

"Why won't you consider...me?" Jim blurted, the pain of the statement all too true.

She stared at him. "Consider you for what?"

"Anything beyond whatever this is that we have," he said. "I know I'm just the dumb PE teacher, but you're not the type to care about things like that. At least I thought you weren't."

Melinda was staring at him.

"And while we're being honest, what's up with you and Rick?" He managed to say.

She choked out a laugh. "That's honesty, for sure," she said.

He didn't know what to make of that. "Melinda, I'm being serious. Why do you look at me as some sort of lower being? You only spend time with me during school hours and I just don't get it."

"Jim, I don't see you...like that," she said, struggling to speak. "I...never thought that a guy like you would be interested in a dowdy little thing like me so I didn't want to hurt your reputation."

He couldn't believe his ears.

"If I thought that...you were actually interested and not just...I don't know, bored...of course I'd jump at the chance, but god, Jim we're literally in high school every day of our lives. In what universe does little miss geek win the popular guy?"

"Not interested?" Jim barely managed to say.

She tried to pull her hand away from his but he tightened his grip. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

"I'm not the cheerleader ending," she said. "I've got crap from my past and I've got intimacy problems and...and..."

He moved closer to her, standing up and looking down at her. "Let's get out of here," he whispered, his lips but an inch away from hers.

She closed the distance, meeting him in a kiss that dazzled him. She threw her arms around his neck and held on tight.

Jim managed to get a twenty from his wallet, and then he and Melinda stumbled outside, hands all over each other. It was like that all the way to his house, a dizzying collection of touches and kisses. Melinda climbed up on her seat and leaned to kiss his neck, and it was all he could do not to crash the car.

Finally, they were at his house, taking their time to get out of the pickup. All he wanted was to bury his face in her skin, for this moment to never end. She was climbing over onto his seat and wiggling into his lap, making him feel dizzy, and they were so absorbed in each other that it took her landing on the steering wheel to shake them.

_Honk!_

They jerked away from each other and Melinda hit it again. Jim, realizing the situation, pulled her to him, and they both started to laugh uncontrollably.

"I think that's the signal to go inside," Jim whispered, his mouth close to her ear.

She jerked when he did so, rubbing herself against him and making him moan.

"Maybe so," she said, shakily opening his door with an unsteady hand.

They stumbled to the door and Melinda was literally climbing on him while he tried to find his keys (where were they?) until finally he got the door open, brought them through it and then turned around to pin her against the door.

Her hands were everywhere, and he was dizzy so he found himself grabbing her hands and holding them over her head.

She looked up at him with wide eyes. "What are you doing?" She asked dizzily.

"You're making me dizzy," he whispered. "Can we make it into the bedroom?"

"I don't want to," she said, wiggling her hands, and when he wouldn't let go, she ground against him, effectively ending his brief stint at being the one in control.

Because he lost control, relinquished it, handed it over willingly. He gave Melinda the reins, and oh, god, it was a good thing to do.

* * *

She'd never known a man to give her such control but they'd done it about five times now and, aside from one instance by the door, he'd let her do as she pleased and only followed her lead on pleasuring her, his eyes dark and serious.

Now they lay on the bed, panting and laying spread out across the bed. Jim lazily rolled closer and soon his mouth had closed over her nipple. Melinda whimpered a bit but didn't react more than that. "I'm too tired," she managed to say, and Jim's mouth moved up her neck.

"So am I," he confessed and sucked hard, leaving Melinda with the wardrobe choice of wearing a turtleneck the following day.

She moved her arm up and around his neck, resting on his shoulders and holding his head there. In a moment, he'd lain his head on her chest, and she could feel his breath on her left nipple, making it hard.

She didn't know what came next. Should they go to sleep? What happened in the morning?

Her stomach had started to hurt, she had butterflies and her heart was leaping from sheer terror. What next?

The last time she'd done this there had been only one choice: get out before she got caught.

But that wasn't an issue here.

Jim picked up his head. "Your heart is beating crazy fast, should I be worried?" He inquired and she found herself smiling.

"No," she whispered and pulled him near again.

* * *

The next morning, Jim's alarm went off in time for them to wake up and panic, realizing that Melinda had nothing to wear. "We've still got 45 minutes until we should be there, and an hour and a half until we have to be there, until the students arrive," Jim said.

"But I need to shower and dress and my makeup," Melinda said, walking around in nude panic.

"We can shower here," Jim said, his voice catching.

She glanced up at him and knew that there was no way they were getting to school on time. So screw it.

She walked into the bathroom without saying anything and took a moment to figure out his shower before turning the water on. It was a very small shower. There was no way they'd fit properly.

"Jim?" She called and he came to the doorway.

"Yeah?"

"Are you coming in?" She asked.

* * *

They got to school barely on time. Melinda had abandoned any attempts at makeup and she was wearing an oversize sweater of Jim's, belted to make it look better. At least she didn't have to fear that someone would recognize it. Jim was always in uniform.

That she was wearing the previous day's shoes worried her more, and that even as large as Jim's sweater was, it was still too short to pass dresscode and it was those thoughts that led her to Andrea Merino's classroom.

"Do you have anything that I could borrow?" She asked after explaining the situation.

Andrea's brown eyes were sparkling with delight. "I can't believe you and Jim finally did it," she cooed. "It's about time. And good god, look at you, Melinda. It must have been good."

"Yeah, well," Melinda said, fidgeting with Jim's scarf at her neck. "We got a little distracted this morning too and didn't have time to drop by my house. Do you have anything? An extra T that I could put on underneath so I can abandon the scarf look?"

Andrea looked torn. "I don't think I do, but I've got keys to the theatre department. Do you want to try there?"

"Considering that our last three productions have been _Guys and Dolls, Robin Hood, and The Three Musketeers,_ I think I'll pass," Melinda said. "I'll just have to survive until lunchtime."

"You cannot do that, it's way too obvious, Mr. James will have a cow," Andrea said. "Well, you know, Mr. James won't give a damn but he'll have a cow on behalf of the board."

"I know," Melinda said, slumping.

"Here," Andrea said, shutting the door to her classroom. She pulled her long sleeved t-shirt over her head. "Take off the sweater and put this on," she ordered.

"But I don't have any pants," Melinda said.

"We'll get to that," Andrea ordered.

Trusting her friend, she did as Andrea said, and then Andrea untied the scarf, spread it out and tied it around Melinda's waist.

"It's perfect," Andrea declared.

Amazingly, the scarf was a little longer. Melinda took the tape on Andrea's desk and used it to tape her 'skirt' together on the inside as Andrea pulled the sweater over her head. It looked much less obvious on Andrea, since she was closer to Jim's height and shoulder size.

They looked at each other for a moment, and both shook their heads. "I am so sorry for ruining your outfit, Andrea," Melinda said, but Andrea only laughed as she shoved Melinda from the room.

"Don't worry about it, I could use some excitement in my life," she said. "And speaking of excitement...it looks like our new teacher has arrived."

"What, where?" Melinda asked, her head whipping around.

She watched, her world draining of color, as Rick Payne walked through the hallways, towards Mr. James' office.

Her breathing grew shallower, and suddenly Andrea shoved her forward. "Come on, let's say hi," her friend urged, and the next thing Melinda knew, her brown eyes were meeting Rick's piercing blue ones.

They were as captivating as ever.

Rick's breath seemed to catch. "Melinda?" He wondered.

"You two know each other?" Andrea asked.

"He was my teacher," Melinda said numbly, sticking her hand out for appearance's sake. "It's...to see you again, Professor Payne."

"Just Mr., now," Rick said. "I got fired."

His hand clung to hers, refusing to let go.

Melinda tried to pull away but she found herself completely averse to the idea of losing his body heat.

Andrea cleared her throat and Rick was the one to give in.

"I'm Andrea Merino, social studies teacher here at Grandview High," Andrea said. "And you are...Rick Payne?"

"Indeed, I am," he mumbled, barely looking at her. "The new supernatural studies teacher."

Melinda could feel his eyes sweeping over her, up and down, all around, to her improvised skirt and up to her face.

"It's good to see you again, Melinda," Rick said, emphasizing the word as if recognizing that she'd left out the adjective in her sentence when greeting him.

"Yeah," she whispered, and slipped away, her mind spinning.

* * *

Jim's heart felt frozen. After everything the night before...Melinda had lied to him.

She'd lied, and now it was obvious that whatever had been between her and Payne..it had been big.

He turned away, slipping around the corner so that she couldn't see him.

He looked heavenwards, as if praying to an unseen god to give him strength.

Strength to not punch Rick Payne in the face instead of shaking his hand.

Or strength to let Melinda do what she wanted with her life.

_God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change._

Melinda was her own person.

_The courage to change those that I can._

But maybe it was over between her and Payne. Please. Let it be so.

_And the wisdom to know the difference._

Jim wanted to know, to be absolutely sure of what was between them before he made his move. And waiting to find out...that might kill him.

* * *

"You have to tell me what's up between you and Payne," Andrea bugged her, following her around the teacher's lounge at lunchtime.

"No, and please stop talking about it so loud," Melinda protested, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Tell me now," Andrea said. "Or I'll scream. Or I'll spread a nasty rumor about you two."

"Like everyone isn't already talking about my idiot scene in the hallway, unable to let go of his hand," Melinda said. "He was my teacher in college. Senior year. Nothing else to say."

"There's so much more to say," Andrea said. "Is it the kind of material that could get him fired?"

Melinda sighed. "He's already been fired, so no."

"Aha," Andrea cackled. "What did you do, Melinda Gordon?"

Melinda groaned. "Maybe, if you leave me alone, I'll tell you later. After you've bought me about twelve drinks."

"It's a date," Andrea said, before her brow creased. "Wait, Mel."

"Hmm?" Melinda wondered.

"What about Jim?" Andrea queried.

"What about Jim?" Melinda repeated, folding her arms over her chest, hugging herself.

"You just slept with him; how are you going to explain your hots for Mr. New Guy?" Andrea hissed.

Melinda shook her head. "There's nothing to explain," she finally managed to say. "And I don't have the hots for Rick."

"Rick!" Andrea crowed. "Rick! And yes, you do, Melinda. Or you did."

"Yeah," Melinda said, and walked away.

Her heart thrummed within her and she pondered what Andrea had said. Would Jim feel hurt?

After all, at this point, what happened between them might not turn out to be anything beyond a one night stand. Yes, he'd said some things last night...and she had too, if she was utterly honest with herself.

She bit her lip as she headed down the hallway, concentrating hard.

"I know that look. It's the 'Miss Gordon is concentrating' look."

She jerked to attention to see Rick standing there, leaning against a locker with his arms folded.

"Better known as the 'Miss Gordon is daydreaming' look," he said, straightening and walking over to her. "Have I told you yet how much I like your skirt?"

"No, but I'm not surprised," she said, folding her arms again.

He grinned, a wolfish look that said he could see right through her. "And now it's the 'Miss Gordon is uncomfortable' look," he whispered, coming closer. "Do you remember that night, Melinda?"

"Yeah," she managed. "And I remember the next day part even better."

"We didn't get in trouble," he said, his eyes piercing her.

"No, but you broke me instead," Melinda said fiercely. "I don't want this, Rick Payne. I don't want you here, I don't want you near me. I don't want to repeat the past and I am not going to."

"Well, if that's how you feel about it, fine," Rick said, backing off. "But Melinda, people change their minds an awful lot. You aren't exempt from that. And neither am I. I regret what I did. You were just a student, too young. But maybe I was also too young. Too young, married, a professor without tenure...of course I broke it off like I did. Can you see that I did the right thing?"

"No comment," she said.

"But things have changed, and so have we," Rick said, tilting his head. "You're older. I'm divorced...and fired."

"That doesn't change anything," she vowed.

He reached out to brush her cheek with his hand. "Got it. That doesn't mean I'm happy."

She pulled away from him, almost running in her efforts to put distance between them.

* * *

"What happened between you and Rick?" Andrea demanded, once they were seated at a bar.

Melinda didn't even want to think about it, but somehow the words came tumbling out. "I was a senior. I was taking his class, and it was supposed to be an easy pass, but then Rick was so passionate...so into what he was doing...he truly believes, or he did. I fell in love with how he taught, and he started to offer me extra sessions because, you know, I actually cared about learning. And one day after class...I don't know. We were in his office and the afternoon sun was so bright..."

She trailed off.

"And?" Andrea asked gently.

"I couldn't help it," Melinda sighed. "I made the first move. His blue eyes were so shocked, so full of...I don't know. And then it happened."

"And did you get caught?" Andrea demanded.

"He wrote me a letter the next day and told me to drop his class, so I did," Melinda said, her throat choked. "What else could I do?"

"Um, confront him?" Andrea said.

"I was foolish enough to think that this meant we could be together, that him telling me to drop it somehow meant that the rules no longer applied," Melinda explained. "And maybe that's partly why I resisted this thing with Jim for so long. I played against the rules once, and I got badly burned."

"Oh, Mel," Andrea sighed. "This was way worse than I thought it would be. And now he's back, and what, wants you again?"

"I don't know, he semi-apologized earlier, and tried to act as if he's changed, but what...why would I want him to change?" Melinda took a sip of alcohol. "And why would I want to go back in time to myself then? I was so insecure and scared, and I'm still insecure and scared but at least I know what I have to do to...to live!"

She banged her glass on the bar, burying her face in her arms.

"What do you want?" Andrea asked, her voice quiet. "Really, when you think about it? If there were no rules, no nothing. Jim, Rick...or neither? Who makes you happiest?"

* * *

Jim sat in his office, late that day, flipping a pen in his hands and trying to finish some reports, but all he could think of was Melinda.

A knock sounded at the door, and he went to open it, feeling tired.

Melinda stood there, dressed in Andrea's sweater and the scarf she'd borrowed from him early this morning. He would have expected to feel buzzed to see her there, dressed like that, but instead he felt a dull ache start in his chest.

"I need to tell you something," she began. "I slept with Payne when he was my professor."

Dead silence, and then Jim hit his hand against the wall. "Damn it," he hissed.

"And there's so much history between us," Melinda said. "But we played against the rules and I got so badly burned, Jim."

"Why are you telling me this?" He begged.

"Because if we're going to be anything, I can't play it like this," she managed. "I can't do the whole 'will we get caught' thing."

He stared at her, some of the words sinking in.

"And Andrea was asking me, well, who makes you happy, and Jim, it's you. Rick means nothing but heartache and stupidity and you mean safety, and happiness, and tenderness, and this," she said, pulling her sweater down to show off the love bite he'd given her that morning.

"Mel," he whispered, moving closer.

"But I can't," she said, holding her hands up. "Not if we're dating against policy."

He paused, completely stopped. "So what now?"

She was crying, almost sobbing. "I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know, Jim."

He moved closer again, and she fell against his chest, and his arms came around her, cradling her tightly in his arms.

"I don't mind quitting," he said. "I can get a job anywhere."

"I'm not asking you to do that," she managed between sobs. "I don't want to ask you. You'll resent me and you'll hate me and it will never work out. God, Jim, I saw it happen with my parents."

"No, no, Mel," he begged. "Melinda, it won't be like that. This job? It means nothing to me. I hate this job. I never wanted to be a PE teacher, but _my_ parents told me that I couldn't be anything else, anything better."

"But you're so good, at what you do," she managed. "I've seen you."

"I want to be a doctor," he said, voice raw. "I always wanted that. But I got a little wild in high school, my grades dropped and next thing I know my parents are telling me to go somewhere that's safe. Do something safe. So I did. Melinda, I'm tired of safe."

She looked up at him, eyes wide. "So all I want is safe, and all you want is to be done with it."

He shrugged, trying to find words that meant exactly what he meant so she wouldn't take it the wrong way.

She started to nod though, pulling back. "I think this could work," she said, grabbing a kleenex from the box on his desk and blowing her nose loudly, dabbing at her eyes.

"What?" He asked, flabbergasted.

"It makes sense," she said. "You can go to med school. We'll move in together. I'll keep teaching and you can become a doctor. And someday...it'll all fall together. We'll get married. Have kids. You'll save lives and I'll be happy to watch you do it."

"That's not enough," Jim said.

Her face fell. "I'm not enough. I knew it."

"No, that's not enough for you!" He corrected, grabbing her hand before she could go. "I'm not going to have you lose all of yourself, Melinda. Not because of me. You have to live your dreams too. What do _you_ want? Don't say me. There has to be more."

Her throat worked, and she was finding it hard to speak. He pulled her close again, his hand caressing her hair. "Come on, Mel. What's your dream? Think without the safety net. I'm here. You don't need it."

"I want...to own a store," she breathed. "A little store in a small town. I don't care what I sell. I just want to make my own hours and be my own boss. I want to tough it through hard times. I want to be able to say that no one owns me."

"Okay," Jim said, his lips skimming her face; kissing her eyes, her cheeks, the corner of her mouth. "We can do that. I'll be a doctor, you'll open a store."

She started to laugh, and he took that moment to capture her lips in a kiss, taking the laugh too.

"How are we supposed to make that work?" She wondered, pulling away with a gasp.

"You could keep teaching for a bit longer," he said. "You support me, then I'll become a doctor and support you. We'll find another small town and we'll make our own life there, carve it into the town's history. And it'll be good, Mel. I promise."

She leaned against his chest, breathing in deeply. "I know it will," she whispered.

* * *

The next day came way too early, but this time Melinda slipped from her own bed, and scrambled to the shower before Jim could wake up too.

When she returned, Jim was awake, and staring a bit dazedly around him. "At first I thought you'd left but it's your house," he said, his voice full of relief.

"Get dressed; we brought your gym bag for a reason," she scolded. "I'm not having a repeat of yesterday."

"Fine, fine," he chuckled, getting out of bed and heading for her. "Your hair's wet. You showered without me."

"Yes, I did," she told him. "Because we're going to get to school on time today."

"Fine," he whispered, stole a kiss and hopped in the shower.

She dressed in excitement. Today Jim was going to quit. And that would put their whole plan into motion. They'd live life without a safety net, they wouldn't care about what was in their future. He'd apply to med school, and maybe he'd get in, maybe he wouldn't. That's why God created more than one college.

She hummed as she got ready, before a few worries slipped into her mind.

There was Derek. He needed help. Of course Melinda couldn't quit yet, not that she wanted to, not yet.

* * *

"Aaron, great job on this paper," Melinda emphasized. "Derek, let's talk after class again."

There was a titter that swept over the classroom and Melinda's eyes shot to the people laughing, who immediately quieted.

She noticed a certain tension between the two boys that hadn't been there before and scolded herself. Surely she wasn't the reason for that, but it made sense considering that they sat right next to each other so if one boy was praised and the other scolded in quick succession, it would surely bring about resentment.

Derek loped over to her desk as the end of class.

"Is there something going on between you and Aaron?" She asked. "I'm sorry for how it sounds. I never mean to belittle you by praising him."

Derek flushed deeply. "It's not that, ma'am," he said. "We've got other problems."

"Those being?" She wondered.

Derek sighed. "Do you promise not to tell?"

"Of course," she said.

"The football team is mad at the soccer team," Derek said. "I don't know why. But I'm trying out for football and they're making me prank the soccer team. I think Aaron found out."

She nodded. "That's a hard position to be in," she said.

He bit his lip. "Listen, Miss Gordon, I wouldn't tell you this if I didn't trust you. Please don't get me in trouble."

"I wouldn't do that," she said. "But maybe I can help you. With other things, too."

He turned his head away. "I gotta go," he said.

"Fine," she said. "But would you tell me, if there was something really wrong in your life?"

Derek's eyes might have been filled with tears. She wasn't sure. "I don't know, maybe if it escalated."

"I'll be here," she told him.

He nodded and left, his long legs carrying him quickly from the room.

It was just a few seconds before she heard loud voices outside, which turned to shouting.

Standing up, she hurried to the door to see Derek and Aaron standing there, in a clear face off.

"This went too far," Aaron said. "I get that the team is making you do it, but Spencer's arm is _broken_."

"I didn't do that," Derek said, holding his hands up. "I only put the glue in your shoes, I swear."

"God, I cannot believe you," Aaron said. "After everything..."

"Don't talk about that!" Derek swore.

It happened before Melinda could fully process their conversation. She wasn't sure which boy swung first but suddenly fists were flying and she was the only one around.

"Stop it," she called. "Derek, Aaron, stop it!"

They ignored her. She could see clear pain and fury as they fought; this went way beyond a sports grudge.

She stepped forward, suddenly too scared that they'd really hurt each other to stop herself; to be careful. "Come on," she said, wading into the fight.

A wild punch came out of nowhere.

She was sailing through the air, landing against the locker with a sound that made both boys stop immediately.

And there were people coming, flooding the hallway.

"Melinda?"

"Ohmygod, Melinda!"

* * *

She woke up in the hospital. Jim was standing next to her bed, and Andrea was by the window.

"You're awake," Jim said.

"I think so," she managed. "What happened?"

"You tried to stop a fight between Derek Morgan and Aaron Hotchner," Andrea said, hurrying over. "Mel, you're like 5 foot nothing and you can't throw a punch to save your life. What were you thinking?"

"I don't know," she said, staring around at her surroundings.

"You don't have amnesia, do you?" Jim asked, voice anxious.

"No, it's just fuzzy," she said.

He exhaled and she almost smiled. "Andrea, could you get the nurse or something?" Jim wondered. "She should be told."

"Yeah, of course," Andrea said, perhaps sensing that he was actually just trying to get her out of the room for a few minutes.

"You were afraid that I'd forgotten about us," Melinda whispered once Andrea was gone. "About our plans. I didn't, Jim."

"I don't care about that as long as you're safe, Mel," he whispered back. "You looked...dead. You were just lying against the locker and everyone talks about the mysteries of head injuries, and oh, god, Mel."

"I'm fine, promise," she whispered. "What about Derek and Aaron? They aren't in too much trouble, are they?"

"I think Mr. James is waiting to hear what you say," Jim said. "After all, you'd be the one pressing charges and no one has any idea whose exact punch it was that hit you."

"I don't either, so don't look at me," Melinda said. "I was just trying to stop it. Jim, maybe expulsion is policy but I don't want either of them to get into trouble."

Jim exhaled. "They could have killed you."

"I want to see them."

* * *

Derek's hands were shoved in his pockets, and his mother was there, glaring at him and then standing back so that Melinda could talk to him privately.

"You're in trouble," she said. "But not with me. I'm not pressing charges."

He exhaled with a sound that sounded like a sob.

"What's happening in your life?" She asked.

"There's an older guy..." Derek said. "He's pressuring me. And I'm not gay. I thought I wasn't. But this past semester, Aaron and I were spending time together, and stuff happened, but Aaron won't even talk about it."

It took a long time for the whole story to come out, but once it had, Melinda reached out to take his hand and hold on tight. "You need to tell the police about Carl," she told him. "I'll be there, right behind you."

"I don't want anyone to know," he said.

"There are probably others," she said solemnly. "I don't think you're the first."

His face changed. "Oh, god," he managed, and sat down heavily in the chair next to her bed.

"And what you feel...for Aaron?" Melinda began. "You should tell him that. And maybe some other things too so he knows why you acted like you did."

"I can't believe this," Derek said. "Here you're the injured party but I'm the one being helped."

* * *

"You heard _what_?" Melinda asked.

After the incident, she'd been the one to quit. She'd found a job minding a small antiques store in town, run by an eccentric old lady to whom money wasn't a problem. They were doing good, financially.

"Derek and Aaron are out of the closet," Jim said happily. "I saw them getting ice cream together. God, Mel, after seeing what those two boys went through...I can't imagine anything being harder than that."

"I can't believe that Derek stepping up about Buford brought about such a change," Melinda said. "So many victims. And then Aaron stepped forward to say that his father was abusing him. I can't believe the amount of baggage in that relationship, or how proud I am that they can make it work."

"Yeah," he said, stepping to wrap his arms around her from behind. They only barely fit around her swollen stomach. "We won't do make those mistakes, Mel. Not with this one."

"Well, we didn't with the last one," she murmured, stepping forward to pick up their son. "I think Dan is turning out really well."

"At one and a half, who can really tell?" He whispered, and she slugged him.

"I'm glad we're having a girl," she said. "I'm glad we found out. And I've got a name for her. Philippa."

"You're the boss," Jim said, his eyes tightening. "As long as I get to hold you like this. Forever."

"If forever lasts about two minutes, yes," Melinda said. "Considering that your class starts in, like, fifteen minutes. You need to get going, Jim."

"I will," he promised. "After one more kiss."

"One more," she said.

But one turned into two, and two turned into three.

Soon they both had a feeling that Jim wouldn't be making it to class that day.

It had taken them two years, but their lives were finally what they wanted them to be. So who cared what happened in the outside world? They had each other.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Since Mel won't have her ghosting abilities in *most* but not *all* of these, I added a little 'helping/meddling Melinda' because that's such a central part of her character.
> 
> And, ugh, this chapter had too much plot and I don't want to talk about it. But if you recognized Aaron and Derek, cheers.
> 
> Extra bonus points if you caught Dan and Phil and the significance of those names. Hint: I'm going to see them when they go on tour in America.
> 
> (Buries head.)


	3. High School Students AU (partial)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melinda and Jim meet in high school: geeky ghost girl vs. popular jock. Tragedy strikes and brings them together...but what will tear them apart again?

Melinda looked out the crack in the door and breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god. The coast was clear.

She moved from the school bathroom, clutching her arms to herself. She hated this school. She hated that everyone in it thought she was a freak; an outcast, not worthy to be noticed to talked to.

Definitely not talked to. That would brand anyone, forever, as a freak almost worse than Melinda herself, for maybe Melinda couldn't help her freakiness, but anyone could help themselves from talking to her.

She slipped through the hallways, inhaling and exhaling at a normal rate for perhaps the first time that day. There was no one here. Anyone staying for after school clubs were safe in their classrooms; those who did sports were outside.

And now that she was alone, safe...the tears she'd been crying in the bathroom were threatening to come back.

Just...not again. Why did it have to happen again, when she tried as hard as she could to just lay low; not be noticed...never be noticed?

Why did Sara have to look at her like that, like she was fresh meat? Like she was the lunch being served today?

Melinda remembered the scene in the classroom and cringed, shrinking back into herself. The stares of everyone as they craned their neck to look at 'ghost girl'. The laughter when they realized that Sara had had someone tape a sign to Melinda's back.

_I see ghosts. I also see zombies._

And the football players, at lunch. Laughing, and shoving. Her tray had gone flying through the air, splattering her with pudding, and splattering Emily, Sara's best minion, with milk.

And then Melinda was doomed. Sara and Emily had stared daggers at her, despite the fact that it had been the jocks' fault, and Emily had stepped forward.

"You're doomed, ghost girl," she hissed.

"Even more than you already are," Sara returned, and they had hurried off to the bathroom to see if they could salvage Emily's dress.

Melinda hadn't ended up eating lunch. She'd ended up hiding in the farthest corner of the library, trying not to have a panic attack.

And that was also why she'd hid in the bathroom until everyone was gone; Sara and Emily would be at cheerleading practice. She was safe.

The doors out were just around two more corners. Melinda took in a deep breath as she went around the first, and, there being no one there, she let it out.

Just one more corner, just one more threat. One more hurdle to clear. Oh god. It didn't used to be this hard. Not when her grandma was alive. Not when someone loved her unconditionally and didn't leave or criticize or hate the biggest part of Melinda, the part that made her special, someone, _Melinda._

One more corner.

She barreled around it, suddenly only wanting out. And she ran right into a waiting someone.

* * *

Body heat? Check.

Feminine voice? Check.

Telltale curves instead of muscle or flab? Check.

Hips? Check.

Yeah, this was a girl lying on top of him.

Jim Clancy carefully sat up, keeping a hand on his 'attacker'.

"Hey, you okay?" He asked.

"Are you?" The girl wondered, keeping her head down. "I'm the one who did the tackling."

"I'm fine, I get a lot worse than this in football practice," Jim replied. He tried to puzzle out who this was, but she was keeping her face stubbornly pointed downward. Teenage boy that he was, he tried to figure it out by her body type, but she was wearing a baggy sweatshirt over baggier pants, so that was a no go.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, scrambling to her feet before Jim could. Otherwise he would have tried to help her up. He got to his feet as quickly as possible.

"What are you still doing here? The clubs haven't let out yet, and detention is long over," he asked, trying to catch a glimpse of her face. Come on, he knew this girl. He had to. There weren't that many students at Grandview High. There seriously weren't. Not ones with soft bodies like this girl had had. He glanced closer at her top half, but the sweatshirt concealed everything that he'd felt while on the ground. She had to be...well built, though. He'd felt it. Generous on top, small waist that swelled into luscious hips and a booty that Jim hadn't been able to feel as long as he'd wanted to.

But that wasn't what was attracting him. She looked scared, like a lost animal. Jim hated it when people were scared.

"Are you okay?" He asked, stepping closer when she wasn't looking at him, replying, or even running away.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said huskily. She looked up, maybe accidentally, and, the damage done, looked Jim straight in the face.

She was beautiful. Delicate features, sorrow in her eyes. Jim wasn't one for the 'mystery' type of girl, but this girl...she was different.

He could tell.

And that was when he recognized her.

"Mel...issa?" He asked. "I think I have you in social studies."

"Melinda," she replied. "Yeah, we have that class together, as well as our lunch periods."

Something flashed in her eyes; resentment?

"I'm Jim Clancy," he offered.

'I know," she said tightly.

He looked at her eyes, they were tinged with red and as he watched she pulled her arms around herself in a protective gesture.

"I guess I'll see you," he said lamely.

She looked away from him. "I won't pretend not to know you if you don't pretend not to know me." She said, before flushing.

"What?" He asked, but she was already leaving, her lithe legs carrying her away at a fast clip.

* * *

What had she even been thinking? Melinda wondered, running away from Jim as fast as humanly possible.

She had remembered too late that she had volunteered to watch her mother's antique shop, and doubled her pace, determined to get there before three.

She made the mistake of looking back: just once. Jim was standing there. He was still staring.

She shivered and ran faster.

* * *

The autumn days put a chill in the air. Jim got his spot from last year on the football team and started spending all of his time at practice.

Melinda started going to her mother's shop even when her help wasn't needed. She liked the safety; no one knew that her mother owned it and no Grandview teenager other than herself would be caught dead in an antique shop.

She was making a bit more money. Because she was going after school her mother had let her other part time worker go and Melinda had turned out to be quite a saleswoman; her mother had started to give her an unofficial commission every time she sold a pricey piece.

This made Melinda happy. She already had absolutely no intention of staying in this town and the more money the better.

At school, everything was even worse than usual. Emily and Sara were doing their utmost best to drive her out of her mind. The ghost related pranks increased daily and soon everyone knew exactly who she was, and what her sin was.

The bullying was just getting worse and worse, and her time at school was complete misery...

Except for social studies.

That was the class that none of the popular girls inhabited. That was the class Jim was in.

Melinda didn't like Jim. Or at least that was what she told herself. After all, he had to have been there the day the jocks got the milk on Emily's dress and blamed it on Melinda. They shared a lunch period too; he had to have been there.

He didn't act like the other jocks. That was the problem. He was serious in class, and he asked the teacher interesting questions, probing to get a deeper answer to why the American Civil War happened as it did.

He didn't just accept the simple answer; slavery. He went deeper, discovering that the seeds for the Civil War were already planted at the time of the American Revolution.

Melinda hadn't realized that at the time; hadn't cared. This wasn't her favorite period of history, though she did usually enjoy social studies.

But with Jim bringing that up, she'd looked it up, found some fascinating factoids and ended up picking it as her term paper.

Jim Clancy was a unique boy.

And he liked her.

At least, he smiled at her, called her by name. He seemed to forget her reputation, treating her like everyone else. He was easygoing and brave, and even when he was with the football team he'd raise in his hand in a wave if he saw her.

She leaned against the counter of the antique store and shivered, remembering a moment that morning when he'd been riding by in a teammate's jeep. The top down, his eyes had met hers, from where she stood 100 feet away on the sidewalk, shivering in a sweater and jeans while he was out in the wind, wearing but a t-shirt.

He'd grinned, shrugging, as if to recognize their disparity of clothing, before Joe had steered the jeep away from her.

Jim had waved, slow and steady, and his eyes had stayed on her until she'd waved back.

She shivered again, remembering the smile on his face; it hadn't been like his usual ready grin. It had been different. It had been charged, with something that Melinda desperately wanted to identify but couldn't.

The rings above the door chattered, announcing someone's entrance.

Melinda straightened up, expecting a little old lady. She'd taken off her sweater; her mom got cold easily and therefore kept the store a good ten degrees warmer than most places of business this time of year. Now Melinda was left in a tight tank top, for she wasn't embarrassed to wear things that showed her body off around older women. Most of them seemed mildly impressed, or happy for her that she was so well-endowed, remembering their younger days and perhaps wishing them back.

So Melinda felt comfortable wearing whatever around the shop, unlike at school where she covered up as much as possible.

She moved from behind the counter, thinking that maybe Betty Parks had returned; Betty had been considering buying baby clothes for her granddaughter earlier but had accepted a phone call and run off.

Melinda moved between the displays, until she was near the front of the store. "Hey, B—"

It wasn't Betty.

Jim was standing there.

His hair was unexpectedly short; like he'd _just_ had it cut.

He had donned a flannel shirt, perhaps recognizing the chill in the air.

And now he turned to see her, light blue eyes piercing everything in the store; every display.

Melinda.

He saw her standing there, and visibly startled. "You work here?" He asked, stepping forward, and then pausing.

"I do," she said, too surprised to lie. She at least managed to refrain herself from telling him that her mother owned the place, but only barely.

He stared at her for a moment; Melinda remembered the tight tank top and found that her cheeks were getting hotter, and she hurried back through the maze of the store to the counter, to fetch her sweater.

She heard Jim's footsteps behind her. Melinda didn't look at him as she pulled the sweater over her head, pretending that he wasn't there for a brief moment.

"Can I help you find something?" She asked. "Are you shopping for your grandma or something like that?"

Jim shook his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. "No, no, I was just looking. I'm waiting for brother to finish getting his hair cut next door and I just wandered in here. I...didn't know you worked here."

"There's a lot you don't know about me," she said, immediately wanting to slap herself at her terrible attempt at mystery. Who was she pretending she was, honestly? A heroine in a bad romantic film?

And yet it was true, and Jim seemed to recognize that.

"True," he said. "I don't know if you can actually..."

_Talk to ghosts?_

The unsaid words hung in the air between them. Melinda remembered today's announcements; how Emily and Sara had gotten the student doing them to say, to the whole school, that if anyone wanted a supernatural consultation, Melinda was available.

"Well, I don't know if you would," Jim amended and Melinda puzzled out this change of sentence. Where was he going with this?

"Would what?" She wondered.

He looked at her briefly, before raising his hand up to head and turning around to look at another display. "This is a cool place," he said, approaching a display.

"It is," Melinda agreed. She stepped forward. "Listen, my-the boss has a problem with letting people touch things in here. She doesn't like it."

"Oh, sorry," Jim said, pulling his hand back. "I guess I should be leaving."

"Maybe," Melinda replied.

"Maybe?" Jim repeated.

Melinda flushed, moving back behind the counter.

Jim stepped forward, steps hesitant, cheeks faintly flushed, when Melinda's mother came out from the backroom.

"Mel, we need some things sorted in the back, and I have a back ache from bending down like that for so long," she explained.

"Mel?" Jim mouthed at her.

Melinda was already moving away, towards the back.

"Oh, we have a customer?" Beth straightened. "I can help you, young man."

Melinda saw the look of panic in Jim's eyes. "No, sorry, I just needed...directions. Thanks."

He sped from the shop. Beth turned to Melinda, quizzical. "Am I that scary?" She asked, amusement in her tone.

Melinda wished that, for once in her life, Beth would take things seriously. Take things seriously and not try to belittle things. Things...like Melinda's gift.

"It's true," she lied. "He just wanted to know the way to Andrew St."

Her mother nodded, already going to the register. "I should enter some expenses now anyway," she was saying. "Be careful of that new shipment in the back, could you?"

* * *

It seemed like life was forcing their paths apart from the others'. Their teacher in Social Studies decided to, as an experiment, change his mind about letting students sit where they wanted. Now it was assigned by some strange order that no one understood and Melinda and Jim couldn't be farther apart.

Melinda hunched down at her desk everyday, hair covering her face, only wishing for the days to end, as one day stretched to seven...and a week turned into a month.

They didn't talk to each other. Since that day in the shop, Jim seemed to be avoiding her in return. She didn't know what to make of it. Of him. Of not having him, as a little secret that she held in her pocket and pulled out on a rainy day.

Now it was just rainy all the time.

Until one day, almost two months later.

It was getting to be Halloween time. They had so much new antique Halloween decorations. Melinda was changing the display one afternoon, and suddenly, outside, there was tapping on the glass.

When she looked up, there he was, blue eyes bright. "You're in the window," he called.

"I'm changing the display," she said, her voice surprisingly calm.

"Nice," he said, looking at the big picture. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," she called back.

She wasn't sure why but it was easy for her to climb out of the window and meet him at the door. "Hey," she said.

He smiled at her. "It's been a while since I've really talked to you," he said. "Football practice has been hell. Coach is working us double...no, triple time."

"I believe it; you guys have won your last three games," Melinda said. It was news that everyone in town knew. Otherwise she wouldn't admit to knowing it.

"Were you at the games?" Jim asked. "I had a really good catch in our last one."

"I don't really understand football," Melinda hedged.

"But were you there? The stands would have gone wild. It was late in the last quarter," Jim said.

She bit her lip. "I didn't go," she admitted.

His eyes on her face didn't falter. She finally let her brown eyes meet his clear blue ones, and what she saw there surprised her. Warmth.

She felt her stomach turn in circles.

"Do you want to go to homecoming together?" He asked. "I know that it's tomorrow and it's short notice, but..." His voice trailed off.

She found herself stepping back, startled. "I...I don't know why you'd ask me," she said, turning around and clutching her arms to herself.

"Because you interest me," he said softly, following her through the maze of the store as she walked back to the counter.

She felt his eyes travel down her body, soft and light. She felt him move closer as she paused to straighten a display.

"What's your favorite movie?" He asked, leaning on the shelf as he looked down at her.

"I don't have one," she said. "Or...maybe Sabrina, with Audrey Hepburn. I...I like her in it. But I like the message in the 90s remake better."

She ducked her head, swallowing a little when she realized how closely he was watching her.

"You look kind of like Audrey," he commented, moving a bit closer. "Especially when you, um, pull your hair back." He smiled again, just a little tug at the corners of his mouth, and reached out with one hand to brush some hair back from her face. "You wore a bun one day last month. I couldn't breathe for the entire class. I'd never noticed cheekbones on a girl but I was just staring at you."

He flushed. "I should be embarrassed for telling you that but I'm not," he said, moving closer. "It sounds so clumsy but I literally cannot stop thinking about you. I'm lying in bed at night, sore as hell from getting kicked around at football practice, and I'm just thinking of you."

"Really?" She asked, tilting her head up in spite of herself. "I'm nothing special, Jim."

"That's where you're wrong," he said, letting his hand fall to her shoulder. "Please go to the dance with me."

"I don't have a dress," she breathed.

"There are dresses here; grab one of these," Jim said, pointing to a vintage dress from the 1890s that was only for display; he flushed when he realized how low cut it was. "Maybe not that one."

She could see his throat working as his gaze gradually, slowly, painstakingly fell to her chest, watching the rise and fall of her breasts underneath her orange sweater.

She couldn't breathe. She'd never felt like this around a boy. She'd never felt like this period.

"I can't afford the ticket," she hedged, trying to back up and discovering that she was backed into the display shelves and unable to move.

"Those on the football team get two tickets free," he whispered, even closer now.

She felt her breath hitch again. His hands were settling around her waist, moving down to her hips; one hand cupped her ass and the look on his face when he did so made her gasp in the back of her throat, which caused his gaze to shoot there.

And then he lowered his lips to hers. It was a shy kiss, hesitant. Melinda didn't know how to respond but her body was responding for her, arching into his touch; she shocked herself by opening her mouth to him, sweeping her tongue out to meet his.

Her body was literally stirring to life, all aching and need. She knew about all of this from health class but, my god, no one ever said that it would feel _this_ good.

She moved her lips from his, gasping into his chest, and his breath was coming in pants.

She felt his erection pressing against her, and she instinctively pressed her body back against it, making him moan, and begin to kiss her neck.

He was hard.

Really hard.

Her hands seemed to be moving of their own accord as Jim nipped at her neck, sucking in ways that she was sure would leave a mark. Lots of marks.

She couldn't believe that this was happening to her, Meloony Gordon.

She couldn't believe that this boy was kissing her, like he meant it. Like he was actually attracted to her.

She pressed one hand to the bulge in his pants, and Jim was so startled he broke away from her, gasping as her fingers stroked him.

And then the door to the shop opened with a ringing of bells.

Melinda jumped from him like she'd been shot, hurrying like lightning behind the counter, pulling Jim with her and shoving him into the back room before he could react.

The customer finished the maze of aisles and it was Mrs. Beedle. "Hello, Melinda. I need to find a present for my husband."

"What were you thinking of?" Melinda wondered. "For his birthday last year, you got him that new watch chain...or should I say old watch chain because it was fifty years old."

"But it matched perfectly and he was so happy that you found it for us," Mrs. Beedle smiled. "I was hoping to find something that would, I don't know, match it in someway."

"Like another piece from that collection?" Melinda asked, already pulling up an internet page. "How about this? I know that there's a seller over in Greenwich Village who has it."

"That's lovely," Mrs. Beedle exclaimed. "Do you think it's in my price range?"

"He's a friend of, um, Beth's," Melinda said, remembering that Jim was in the back room. "He'll give us a good deal."

"Well, isn't that nice of you?" Mrs. Beedle answered. "Could you look into that, then?"

"I'll get a price quote to you by the end of the week," Melinda vowed.

"Now I just want to buy another one of those candles," Mrs. Beedle said.

* * *

Jim listened to the exchange in awe. Melinda had morphed from a hesitant teenager to a saleswoman overnight. He couldn't believe how mature she sounded; it almost intimidated him.

His thoughts returned to what they'd been doing before Mrs. Beedle had entered. He remembered how Melinda had touched him, and the raging erection that had never gone away somehow intensified.

And then Mrs. Beedle was gone and Melinda was slipping into the tiny back room.

Jim reached out and pulled her into his arms.

Teenage hormones took over and he pulled at her sweater, until it tugged from her pants, and his hands were spread over her flat stomach, creeping up to her breasts.

"No, um," Melinda said, pulling away. She was flushed and her hands were fidgeting at her sides like she wanted to reach out to him. "I need to get back to work," she managed to say, folding her arms. "I'll go to the dance with you, though."

The words surprised him, and he couldn't help leaning down for one more kiss, sucking at her lips until he got what he wanted; a deep moan from her, seeming to build from her very soul.

And then he pulled away. "I'll pick you up at eight," he gasped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is incomplete. When I finish it I'll reupload the chapter.


	4. Celebrity AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim Clancy and Melinda Gordon star on a popular TV show called Talking to Spirits, playing a young married couple where the wife can talk to the dead. Only problem? Melinda can actually see ghosts...and she can't tell anyone. And Jim? He's in love with Melinda.

 

* * *

Jim moved, shifting his weight.

Melinda inhaled rather sharply, looking up at him.

It was such an intimate moment. He wore only boxers. Only a thin sheet separated their bodies from each other. Her breasts were encased in a lacy bra and he was hard pressed to not stare.

"We're rolling," Delia announced, her voice cutting through the scene.

"I didn't know what to tell Aria," Melinda whispered, her voice vulnerable. There were suddenly tears in her eyes and Jim was awed by how effortless this was for her.

"You did the best you could," he assured her, following scene directions and letting his head fall down. His lips touched the hot skin of her neck, and she wiggled a little.

"I felt so stupid," she continued, as he trailed a path down her neck and onto her chest. God, it would be so embarrassing if he...reacted to this scene. Actors who let themselves get aroused by love scenes...well, you didn't hear much about them. "And Daniel was standing right there, trusting me to tell his girlfriend that he hadn't been cheating on her. But I couldn't. I just lost all words."

"You can try again," Jim promised, propping himself up on one arm, shifting his weight from Melinda's legs and she curled them nearer to herself. "Tomorrow. I'm sure Daniel has been waiting so long that another day doesn't make that much difference."

He began to play with her hair; Jamie, the husband, had a habit of playing with Bel's hair. It had even begun to be a thing for the fans to notice.

Melinda, as Bel, sighed, arching her spine.

Oh, what a view. What a picture she made, breasts trying to escape the confines of her bra. He breathed out, and wondered if he imagined the view of Melinda's nipples getting harder underneath said bra.

He leaned down and pressed another kiss to her neck; it wasn't scripted but the director welcomed a little variance in these scenes, to keep it from being too stiff. Delia appreciated chemistry, and liked it when Jim was a little more enthusiastic than called for in the dailies.

"Make me forget today ever happened," Melinda whispered. "Please, Jamie."

He leaned in and kissed her, drawing her emotions out. He could sense the cameras all around them, wondered what exact angle they were getting of his ass, and then just lost himself in Melinda, in the scent of her hair, the softness of her body beneath him, how she was making so many little noises in the back of her throat.

"And...cut!" Delia yelled.

He immediately backed up. Melinda was practically jumping from the bed; the two of them were sharp contrast to everyone else, dressed only in underwear and surrounded by men and women in suits; jeans and flannel shirts.

She was talking to Delia for a minute, utterly unselfconscious about the fact of her lack of wardrobe, utterly unconcerned. Jim was already slipping on the t-shirt his aide threw at him, and then some jeans.

"You've got the scene at your office," Ned was telling him. "Melinda's way on the other side of the set. Come on, Jim."

"The scene was fine?" Jim asked, approaching Melinda and Delia, waving Ned off for a moment.

"It was great," Delia enthused. "I always like it when you improvise."

"No reshoots?" Jim wondered, remembering one afternoon when he'd literally spent all of it in bed with Melinda. A little tiring...but not tiring at all.

Melinda had been given a robe, which she was tying around herself. Jim wondered if he imagined the collective breath that the crew let out when she was covered up.

"We got it all in one take," Delia said. She didn't like to reshoot material.

"I'll be off, then," Jim said, and briefly let his hand fall onto Melinda's shoulder. "Hey, you feel alright? You were quieter than usual."

She nodded, a little distant. "Yeah, I just have some things to work through. Don't worry, you haven't lost your touch." She smiled at him saucily, and he wondered if she knew that she was flirting.

And then it all crashed down. Eli came up behind them, Melinda's jerk of a boyfriend. Jim had no idea why she'd still be dating him when she was so much better than him, way too good for him. Eli had so many problems: he was jealous of the success of her career and he was just plain jealous, of anyone that spent more time with Melinda than he did. He'd even pressured her into asking for him to get a role on the show; so far, Melinda had mentioned it to a few LCS execs, but it hadn't gone anywhere. And, of course, Eli blamed her.

Damn, Jim hated Eli.

"Babe, you need to be on the other side of the set," Eli urged. "And then we're going out for dinner. I was thinking Beleri's."

"There are always so many paps there," she murmured.

"Jim, come on," Ned said. "You're supposed to be shooting on the other side of the set."

Jim sighed, finally turning around to follow his young assistant. That was the way it always was lately: he and Melinda got less and less screen time together. The focus of the show was changing...but not that much.

He followed Ned, not looking behind him. He knew that Eli would pressure Melinda into making a public appearance, no matter how she felt about it. There was nothing he loved more than a camera...when it was pointed at him.

* * *

A hard day's work of filming completed, Melinda headed back to her trailer, feeling a headache coming on. She'd just finished filming Bel experiencing a dream earthquake, and it had involved a lot of falling, even with the stunt double present.

She was sore. And she had a headache and she was wary of painkillers because lately they'd only made things worse.

And Eli was waiting at her trailer.

She stopped stock still, before heading forward. He was immediately all over her, his hands on her waist line, his lips desperate on her neck and face. "We're still on for Beleri's, right, babe?" He asked, voice low.

She groaned. She hated Beleri's. The food was so...overdone. You got a tiny portion of chicken for about 30x the price it was worth. You got your money's worth at McDonald's more than at Beleri's. And you always left hungry. You were the hungry one, but the paps were the ones who got to eat: pictures of you, just trying to have an evening out.

Melinda shook her head. "I don't think so. I just want to change into sweats and get a pizza, or something."

Eli stared at her, following her into the trailer. "You can't mean that. Babe, you never make time for me anymore!"

"It's not intentional," Melinda protested, remembering 'making time' for Eli just yesterday; spending two hours on a couple's massage that she didn't remotely enjoy.

"I feel like you're pulling away from me," Eli grumbled.

She slipped behind a screen and pulled her dress over her head, unsnapping her bra in a quick motion. At the end of the day, she preferred to have no assistants, unless she was in something that required special fittings.

Eli slipped behind the screen with her, staring morosely at her as she pulled a more comfortable bra on. "You don't dress up for me anymore, you're getting complacent," he complained.

"I'm not," she said. "I'm just tired. It was a full day of filming, Eli."

"With Jim and Rick," he said, eyes narrowing.

"Yes?" She questioned, wondering if it was a question or a statement.

"Why haven't you gotten me a part on Talking to Spirits yet?"

"The LCS execs are fine with Rick; his contract isn't up yet," she said, pulling a tank top on. "It's not as simple as telling people."

"It's your show," Eli said, rolling his eyes. "Let me guess. You aren't actually trying. I should have known."

"Stop it," she tried. "You know I've been trying."

He looked at her. "You're putting those on?"

She gritted her teeth. "I'm going home to take a nap," she said, checking her watch. "It's just past six. Maybe we can go out at eight, some place discreet."

"And now you're trying to hide me," Eli said, and stormed out without another word.

She followed him out of the trailer. "Wait a minute," she called, but he was already gone. It was Jim, just about to enter his trailer, who turned around.

"Yeah, Melinda?" He wondered, jogging over to hear her better.

She stared up at him, his eyes clear and blue; always cheerful. Jim was one of her favorite people to work with. He was just up for anything and he could always make her smile, and love scenes with him...she suppressed a blush. She liked filming love scenes with him over filming with anyone else she'd worked for. It was so easy to get into the mood. So easy to actually feel like she was with someone she was close with, making love to her husband.

She cleared her throat, knowing she'd regret this. "Want to grab some pizza on the way home?" She questioned, scraping her hair back into a ponytail. His eyes unexpectedly followed the motion, looking almost hungry.

She found herself milking the motion, bringing her chest up a little, and his eyes fell there for such a brief moment that she almost missed it. She was impressed. He was such a gentleman. No matter how many love scenes they filmed, he never stopped treating her like a real human being and not just a sexy body.

"Sure," he said, after a moment. "With, um, Eli?"

"He left already," she said. "He's mad at me." She rolled her eyes. "Let me just grab a few things."

"Me, too," he said, pointing to his trailer. "Meet you in five at the gate?"

"Definitely," she nodded, smiling at him.

She went back to her trailer, and stopped stock still again. There was someone else there, another person unwelcome.

"Go away," she hissed, walking through them.

"Melinda, you need to pay attention to me," the ghost hissed. "I'm your father."

"No, you aren't. Paul Eastman is my father," she replied. "Not Tom Gordon. You just raised me. And you didn't do a very good job."

"I can make trouble for you, Melinda," he growled at her.

"You're a ghost, you can't do anything," Melinda said. "The rules in real life are a bit different than the rules in Talking to Spirits."

"You've always had this gift," Tom said. "To talk to the dead."

"But not like Bel," Melinda said. "I can't 'cross you over'. You need to take care of that yourself. And get out of my life."

"I'm going to haunt you forever," he snapped. "I'm not going to leave until you listen to me."

"Well, then I guess I'll just live with you."

* * *

Jim changed his clothes in a bit of a daze. He and Melinda had always had an excellent working relationship, much more fond of each other than they'd been of most of their previous costars, which they readily admitted to each other and in interviews. But she'd never actually initiated something like this before. Not like this, not alone.

Ned was waiting in his trailer. "You've got filming starting at 8 tomorrow, so you'll need to be here at 6:30," he rambled, listing off all the things Jim needed to do.

"Listen, Ned, I know this is your job, but don't you have a life too?" Jim said. "Beat it. Go live a little."

Ned blinked at him for a minute. "You're letting me go early?" He questioned.

"Hell yes," Jim said.

Ned grinned. "I knew there was a reason you're my favorite boss ever," he said.

"Not just because I give you terrible advice with girls, huh?" Jim asked.

Ned laughed, taking off his headpiece and putting everything away. "Just be here at 6:30," he reminded. "And I'm off for a really good evening with Britt."

"Have fun," Jim called, slipping his wallet into his back pocket.

He came out of his trailer and jogged to the gate, seeing Melinda waiting there. Her hands were shoved in the pockets of her low rise sweatpants, paired with a tank top and sweater. She looked relaxed; some would say lazy.

He was glad to see her like this; no make up, no faking anything. Just Melinda. Just the real her.

"Ready?" He asked, as the guard buzzed them through.

* * *

The evening was perfect, just what Melinda needed. They went to the drive-thru and picked up a pizza, then headed back to Melinda's house.

Jim had never been here before, despite the fact that they were in their fifth season now. Her house was large, but not overly so. She hadn't built a mansion by any means, but it was much nicer than most people had, admittedly. Hot tub, full swimming pool, balconies for almost every window...

She led him to a polished kitchen, with first grade equipment and appliances.

"Let's grab something to drink," she said. "I've got a bit of liquor, and some wine, and beer, in the fridge." She looked at him, a touch of worry in her face.

"Beer," he said, and her face cleared.

"I'm glad you said that," she admitted, grabbing two from the refrigerator door. "Eli—some people always want to do wine or liquor and it drives me crazy. Who wants more than beer with pizza, right?"

"Exactly," he said, as she led him out to her back deck. It opened to a brilliant view of a California valley, showcasing the best the state had to offer.

She settled into a deck chair, pizza in one hand and beer in another. He sat in the chair next to hers and they were quiet for a few minutes, just enjoying their food and the landscape.

"I'm tired," she admitted.

"So am I," he said.

"No, actually tired," she began. "Of everything. I love my job, but there are so many complications. Every year we just worry over whether we'll be renewed and when we are we worry over whether the fans will still watch. Then we worry whether people are signing their contracts. I have to worry about if I'm being paid enough or I'll be criticized in the media."

"I can't even imagine that worry," Jim said. "All I have to do is sign my contract, if I'm ever offered one. You...you carry the whole show, don't you, Melinda?" He smiled. "At least, that's what the producers are always telling me. That's why Jamie almost got killed off last year. That's why Rick's role as Professor Acke is in trouble; the fans no longer respond to how he treats her."

"Well, Acke is a little bit of a jerk towards Bel," Melinda said. "But that was the point of his character. Jamie always treats Bel with kid gloves. We needed someone who wouldn't pull any punches with her."

She sighed, leaning back in her chair. "This is nice," she said quietly. "Thanks."

"For what?" He asked. "You paid for the pizza and brought me here. I just said yes."

Melinda met his eyes, serious. "Sometimes saying yes is the most important thing," she told him.

Their eyes seemed to catch on each other. He found his gaze drifting lower, to the sweater slipping to reveal one bare shoulder, to the tank top that seemed to be getting lower all the time.

He felt her gaze on him, lazy, slow, going over his arms and abs, down to his legs.

She stood up, suddenly, putting her pizza plate down. "I guess the pizza's gone," she said. "So our evening has come to an end."

Jim recognized the signal she was giving and stood up, walking forward to place his plate on hers as she gestured for it. "Thanks," he said. "This was great."

She weaved around him to take the dishes in, her body brushing against his.

Melinda froze.

Jim could feel a certain part of his anatomy reacting, as he'd never let it react before in relation to Melinda. Now, freed from the constraints of cameras, it was raging to life.

It wanted her. Jim swallowed, admitting it to himself. He wanted her too, desperately.

After a moment he followed her inside. She was moving around her kitchen. "I need to get to bed early; I have green screen tomorrow," she said. "Delia wants it to be done with by ten so we can move to principal. Andrea's coming in to film scenes."

"Delia's bringing Lily back from the dead?" Jim asked, surprised.

"Bel's just dreaming about her," Melinda replied. "What do you have tomorrow?"

He was surprised at how easy their conversation was again, as they both ignored what had just transpired out on her deck.

"I've got the sideplot with Jamie's aunt until ten, and then we're together at...two?" He questioned.

"Yeah," Melinda confirmed, checking her schedule. "Until four." She smiled at him. "I'm glad they're giving Bel and Jamie more scenes together again. It drove me nuts last season when they were always separating the two. I mean, they're so desperately in love. I hated how the show diminished that, but at least the fan's outcry brought you back." She tossed her head, awkward. "Well, Jamie."

"I was almost killed off last season, so I have no complaints at being back here," he said candidly. "And yeah, it makes sense for Bel and Jamie's relationship to get more notice now that we know fans really care about it."

"I adore acting with Rick," Melinda said, rambling a little as she wiped the counter down needlessly. "But last year, when people were suggesting you...Jamie...dying, and Bel maybe getting together with Acke...it didn't make sense, you know?"

"No, it didn't," Jim said quietly. "I didn't like filming last year. It was lonely. I was afraid I was going to be fired."

"You didn't let it show," Melinda said. "And I admire that. You've always only been wonderful to work with." She looked up to meet his gaze, and her eyes seemed darker than before, more serious.

"And then _Treasure_ aired," Jim said, sticking his hands in his pockets so that he couldn't reach out to her.

"And everything changed," she whispered, stepping out from behind the kitchen counter.

They stood for a moment, staring at each other. He moved towards her, almost against his will, one hand slipping from his pocket and reaching out and up to cradle her neck.

She rolled her head back into his support, eyes piercing him.

They were getting closer, and their breaths were intermingling. He could sense the rise and fall of her chest growing more rapid.

Her eyes drifted shut.

He moved closer.

If they were filming a scene, most likely they would film the build up to the kiss two or three times so that Delia could figure out the best angles before their lips actually touched.

As Jim's mouth grew closer to hers, he wondered if that was why he was still hesitating, but he doubted it.

He could feel the heat of her, ever closer. It was happening in slow motion, and then his lips touched hers.

It was like being burned. He'd never felt like this before, even though he'd kissed her dozens of times. Now it was different, now it was personal, private, _real._ _Allowed_ to be real.

She was moving against him; while filming Talking to Spirits Bel was generally instructed to be kissed and not really kiss back.

Melinda obviously didn't remember those directives. She was moving into him, clutching him desperately, letting him thoroughly discover and research the whole area of her mouth, his tongue sweeping each area and then coming back to tangle with hers.

His hand was still on her neck, drifting down to her back, and lower.

She had such an amazing ass. He'd _never_ let him admit this to himself before. His hand reached to cup it, feel it, and feeling her arching against his touch almost made him come then and there.

She was so passionate. He wasn't sure why he'd never anticipated this before.

His hand came back up, slipping underneath her sweater, pushing flat against the bare skin of her lower back, just above the waistline of her pants.

And then she was pulling back, drifting away from her, looking flushed, and embarrassed, and so thoroughly _kissed_ that Jim couldn't breathe for a moment.

"You should leave now," she said hoarsely.

He didn't need to be told twice.

* * *

He wasn't sure what to expect from her the next day, but when two o'clock rolled around, Melinda was ready and waiting on the set, dressed in a flimsy cocktail dress.

Jamie and Bel were having a night on the town, their first in a while.

The crew was still putting finishing touches on the restaurant set and Jim was being hassled into changing jackets because the lighting was unexpectedly darker.

It was funny how separate their lives were until the camera started rolling. How, a week ago, they'd rehearsed this scene at the read through, but since then they'd only done their lines alone when practicing.

Jim read his lines again; it was a short scene in terms of words, as most of it was visual direction; they were dancing.

"Neither Jamie or Bel have had any formal dancing lessons or past in that, so it doesn't matter what you do," Delia said. "Just be close, funny, and then let it get physical. This is the scene where Acke walks in and tells them that Lily is trying to contact him, and what I want from you two is real sexual frustration."

Before yesterday that wouldn't have made Jim blink. He did have real sexual frustration with Melinda, but he'd never known...anticipated...imagined...Melinda feeling the same way.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye but she seemed to be avoiding looking at him.

In fact, after a moment, he realized that she wasn't looking at anyone. She seemed to be mouthing words; there was a frown on her face...if he didn't know better, it looked like she was rehearsing for one of Bel's scenes where she talked to ghosts and the camera cut away to reveal that no one else could see the ghost; it was only her.

"Melinda? You here?" Delia questioned.

"Yeah, sorry," Melinda said, snapping into position. Her hair was up high off of her neck, and the straps of her cocktail gown didn't seemed strong enough to support their valuable cargo: Melinda's breasts, which seemed to be perched precariously above her dress's neckline.

"You come in, and Jamie's waiting; you hear your song so you get up and dance to it," Delia said. "And...we're rolling."

The lights changed; dropped.

Jim sank down on a stool, looking around the crowd, bored.

And then Melinda entered at the top of the stairs, looking impossibly enticing.

He stood up immediately, recognizing that it was his wife...that she was playing his wife.

She walked across the floor, dodging frenzied dancers, always paying attention to the camera.

And then she was in front of him. "I'm glad we made time for this," she called over what the audio technicians would later edit as a pounding bass. In reality, right now, it was almost dead silent on the set.

"We should do this more often," he agreed, his hand falling to her waist as they surveyed the crowd.

"It looks kind of crowded," she said.

"They're playing our song, Bel, what do we care?" Jim replied.

He pulled her out onto the floor. The dancers around them weaved in perfect rhythm. Melinda and Jim merely moved to the beat; now there was music, real music for them to dance to; Bel and Jamie's 'song' was a new Taylor Swift hit that they'd reclaimed as theirs last season.

_I could build a castle_

_Out of all the bricks they threw at me_

It was supposed to be about how they no longer cared about what people thought.

It was fun. Jim merely moved however, and then, like that, the song changed. _Pillowtalk_ by Zayn came on.

It had a sultry beat. Melinda walked nearer, moving against him. He felt her hair in his face, her hands ghosting over his limbs.

He reached out to her, grabbed her hip, pulled her near.

It was like heaven...or hell, when he remembered the cameras watching them.

They moved against each other and Jim was losing all sense of self, when there was the predicted interruption of Rick, aka Professor Acke.

"I thought you said you'd be here tonight," he shouted over the music.

Jamie and Bel parted reluctantly.

"Yeah, I did, didn't I?" Bel replied.

And just like that, the scene was over.

"Melinda and Rick, you're on unit 2 starting now," Delia ordered. "And Jim, you're all mine as soon as you get changed. We need to finish filming the scene at the hospital."

They were literally pulling Melinda away from him; she was surrounded by a crowd of people who were retouching her makeup.

He saw her, walking, Rick at her side, and felt a twinge of something that he didn't like to label as jealousy...but that's what it was.

* * *

"I don't know what you want from me. I'm not your daughter."

Tom Gordon looked at her coldly. "I want you to listen to me. I have unfinished business."

Melinda threw a pillow at him and it went right through, crashing against one window of her trailer. "This can't be happening," she sighed. "Ghosts have never done this before."

"It's never been me," Tom replied.

Melinda groaned, just wanting him to leave, but she was feeling rundown and sick of arguing with him. This had been going on for so long and everything else was going crazy too.

She couldn't handle this anymore. The fans, the show, the paps...the frenzied deals as contracts were fought for. The pushing.

Eli.

She couldn't handle Eli.

The trailer door opened with a blast of wind, revealing Eli on the other side. She knew it.

"Melinda, you haven't called me back in three days," Eli complained, coming in without invitation or welcome.

"Ever think there might be a reason for that?" Melinda wondered. "I've been busy filming from dawn til dusk. We're shooting our finale, Eli. Does that mean anything to you?"

"It means that you haven't gotten me a place for next season yet," Eli said. "Come on, babe, I just want to be closer to you."

"It's not as easy as that," Melinda finally said, voice sharp. "Never as easy as that. Have you even talked to the LCS execs? They don't want a new face. Rick is a reliable actor _and_ he's a proven draw for fans. It's not happening. I hate it as much as you do..." She trailed off as she looked in the mirror.

She didn't. In the space of a week, she suddenly didn't care if Eli got picked up or not.

Since that night, with Jim.

Good god.

They'd known each other for so long, played _newlyweds,_ and now was the first time she was letting herself fall in love with him? When it was literally the worst possible time?

The show was only just recovering from last season's almost cancellation. They were picking up a lot more viewers, and it was all because of Jim. Now, if she got together with him, it would only seem calculating and cold on her part, especially considering that she'd only been with Eli for a few months and he'd graciously made public the news that she was trying to get a role for him because 'she loves me that much'.

Fuck.

Fuck this.

"Melinda, just tell them that you won't sign if they won't pick me up," Eli said. "That's all you have to do. You've said it before. This show is nothing without you."

"I already signed," she said flatly.

Dead silence.

"Why, Melinda?"

"Because it's my life and my choice," she said sharply.

Tom Gordon materialized in front of her. "Thata girl," he said. "Kick him out."

"What are you even doing here?" She yelled at him, but Eli took the words as directed towards himself.

"You bitch! I came because I love you," he said. "Why are you acting like this?"

"Because I don't love you anymore. You're needy and nasty, and demanding," Melinda managed to say. "You have the worst timing. You've never supported me in anything that didn't help you."

"What are you talking about? You're just moody," Eli said, sensing danger. He didn't want to lose his ticket to ride. She could suddenly sense that.

"Get out," she said.

"You aren't breaking up with me," he said. "I'll call you later."

She slammed the door after him, feeling oddly exhilarated.

Tom Gordon stood there.

"What do you want?"

"I want you to do something for me," he said simply. "Tell your mother I'm sorry."

"You've got to be kidding me," she snapped. "After all this, after all the shit you pulled, you think an apology will do anything?"

"You aren't that much like Bel," he commented.

"Not when I'm angry," she said. "God. I thought you were my father. And then I found out that you killed him."

Tom shook his head. "Don't...don't do this. I was your father. I raised you as my own."

"At what price?" She hissed.

There was a knock on the trailer door.

"It's ten minutes," Ashley said on the other side. "We're ready for you. Delia's waiting."

"I'm not done with this," Tom said.

"Neither am I," she said, and let the door fall shut behind her as she left the trailer.

* * *

She'd been crying. That was immediately apparent. She'd been crying and everyone had heard that Eli had left the set in a huff.

Jim didn't know what to make of any of it.

Delia had her rushed off to makeup (for God's sake, we're filming one of the last scenes) and now Melinda was back, dressed in a diaphanous gown.

"We're going to have a baby," Bel told Jamie. They were standing on a beach, moments after exorcising Jamie's last ghost.

"You can't mean that," Jamie said. "But you...and I...Bel, you were on the pill. I thought you didn't want kids yet."

"I missed a few days," Bel said. "And then I missed some more and then I decided that I didn't care. That I wanted kids. _Now._ With you."

He swung her into his arms, feeling them close tightly around him.

Jim had never felt so close to Melinda as in this moment.

"Now you can cry," Delia said over the loudspeaker. "We've just wrapped season 5."

* * *

It was a crazy moment.

Melinda let it all happen, as people around her celebrated. They could sense that she wasn't in the mood, but she didn't want that to stop them from being happy, and forced a smile onto her face.

"What's up?" Rick asked, wandering over.

"I figured something out and I don't like it," Melinda answered.

"So?" He said. "Who says you have to like everything in life? Isn't the important thing that you're smarter now, going by what you said?"

"Maybe," she said, glancing sideways at him. "Since when are you Acke in real life?"

"I'm Acke whenever called for." Rick sighed. "I've been on this show for four years. You've been on it for five. So has Jim. Haven't you seen the way he looks at you yet?"

"What are you talking about?" She asked, deflecting the question.

"I'm talking about, you have begun to look the same way around him. Don't think we haven't noticed. There's a reason that your friend Eli was pushing so hard to get a spot on the show."

He left her standing there, frozen.

Was it true? Could everyone see it like that? So clearly?

She walked across the lot, to where Jim was by his trailer, talking with Ned.

"Can we go?" She asked him, not coating her purposes by any means. "We can take my car."

* * *

Jim followed her in a daze, wondering how they'd end up...where they'd end up.

She was driving, not paying much attention to road signs and coasting above the speed limit.

And then they were at her house, again. She grabbed his hand and led him inside.

"What are we doing?" He asked.

"This," she whispered, and kissed him.

It was like magic. It was better than the night, because of the buildup, maybe.

And then there was a crash.

They parted, and Eli was standing there.

"I knew it," he shouted.

"What are you doing here?" Melinda asked. "We're so over, Eli. Forever and always over."

But he was advancing.

Jim turned to stand in front of Melinda, and she fought against him. "What are you doing?" She asked, trying to shove him out of the way.

"I don't know why you're here, but Melinda told you to leave," Jim said. "And it's her house. Do you want us to call the police?"

"Go ahead," Eli said. "After I do this."

His fist connected with Jim's face but Jim saw the blow coming, turning at the last second to minimize the blow. He was off balance and Eli was grabbing at Melinda, ripping her dress, screaming at her.

Jim didn't even think.

He repaid Eli's favor, and Eli fell to the ground, clutching a bleeding nose.

"We will call the cops," Jim panted. "If you don't leave now."

Eli left, screaming profanities and promises of all that he'd do.

Jim just looked at her. "Melinda, you don't have to do this."

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"I don't know why I'm here," he said. "I don't know. I don't know if it's revenge or maybe you've wanted me all along but Eli was in the way. I don't know. But I do know that I can't do this. Not unless I get some explanation."

She stared at him, ripped dress showing more than it should. He couldn't help stepping forward to tenderly take the ripped pieces and tie them together, granting her a bit more dignity.

And she fell towards him, her hands clutching at his shoulders. "You're here because you're the only one I could ever imagine telling this," she managed to say, through tears. "I can see ghosts. Like Bel. But unlike Bel, I hid it. I hit it and it ruined my life."

* * *

He was so quiet. He was quiet and he was standing there, staring at her.

"What do you mean?" He asked, voice quiet.

"I mean that my stepfather is standing behind you right now," Melinda said. "I mean that whenever we film in a cemetery there are _dead_ people there protesting and I have to pretend that I don't notice them. I mean that I haven't admitted this to a single person since my mother told me that I was crazy and she'd put me in an asylum if I didn't stop."

"Your mother saw them too."

Tom's words froze her.

She felt like she was floating away, losing all grip on everything.

Jim was just standing there.

"Okay," he finally said.

"Okay?" She asked.

"I believe you," he stated. "I've always noticed a certain distraction about you. It makes sense."

She fell towards him, literally losing balance.

And Jim was there. He caught her. He caught her and he held her as she cried, letting everything out; gradually sinking to the floor with her still clutched in his arms.

And Tom was still there, staring at her.

"Why are you still here?" She asked.

And Jim didn't even ask, didn't question who she was talking to.

"Because your mother could talk to the dead, and I may be a murderer and a lousy father but there are some things that you deserve to be told anyway." Tom said. "You were my little girl. And she made you think you were less than nothing."

* * *

Melinda was quiet in his arms. His job seemed to be just to sit there, holding her. And he didn't mind at all.

He managed to fish a tissue from the box on the counter, reaching one long arm up to grab it, and Melinda's gaze followed the motion.

She blew her nose; wiped her eyes.

"You must think I'm crazy," she whispered.

"On the contrary, I think right now is the first time I've seen you sane," he told her. "Sane and open. Willing to be honest."

"I've known you for so long," she emphasized. "Why is this the first time I noticed...how blue your eyes are?" She turned in his arms, moving her face closer to his, pressing a kiss to each eyelid in a moment that surprised him. "How strong your arms." She caressed his arms, gliding her hands up the ropy muscles. "God. Your arms, Jim."

"Mel," he whispered, and she froze for a moment.

"Mel?" She questioned. "It's like Bel."

"It just slipped out, it's what I always called you...in my imagination," Jim said.

She moaned, low and husky. He couldn't take it and leaned forward to kiss her, grabbing her lips in his.

She was pushing against him, until his body turned and he fell flat against the kitchen floor. She was straddling him, pulling the shirt from his body. He was unable to breathe as she looked at him, ran her hands over his chest, again and again, and then slowly, painstakingly, tugged the dress over her head.

She was wearing a bra and panties.

She _was_ wearing them. And then she wasn't.

Her breasts were bouncing, tempting, dangerous, as she lowered her body to meet his. He hissed out all oxygen as their skin made contact, as she scraped her lips and teeth over his flat nipples.

"Mel," he grunted, but she was merciless, dragging her breasts down his stomach, over the planes of his defined six pack, until they rested on the cold metal of belt buckle.

She made quite a picture.

How was he this lucky?

She was undoing his belt buckle, sliding it from its clasps. She was unbuttoning his jeans, she was tugging them down his hips.

His boxers were visible, and _everything_ was apparent to her watching eyes.

"How many times?" She breathed, tugging his boxers down, and he groaned as his erection was set free, as her hands touched him, lifted him.

"What do you mean?" He whispered.

"How many times did you get one of these on set during our love scenes?" She whispered. "The very first one. Our very first one, I was wearing that thong, and that white shirt. I was so wet, Jim. You were shirtless and covered with a sheet. I couldn't breathe. You were so sexy and experienced and I had no idea what I was doing. This was my first big role and we were practically naked and all I wanted was to make practically...completely."

He swallowed, unable to breathe.

She was slowly lowering her head.

"And every time after that," Melinda said, and he could feel her breath on him. "Every. Damn. Time. Did you ever wonder why I dated seven guys in five years? It's because I was acting alongside the hottest man on earth and for all that I could tell he thought of me as my kid sister...even when we filmed scenes like this."

Her mouth touched him, enveloped him.

He couldn't believe this. He had to be dreaming.

"I never...thought of you...as my sister..." Jim panted, almost unable to speak. Physical sensations were overwhelming everything, all of him, his entire mind. "When we first filmed a scene together...you were wearing those...booties, or whatever you call them. We were filming...that scene where it's the day...before Bel and Jamie's wedding."

She was caressing him, going up and down.

His mind was about to stop functioning.

"And you were pressed against me, and it was all I could do to not react. And then that love scene...you were wearing that thong...and shirt...my shirt. It was actually my shirt since they wanted it to look right."

She didn't speak, continuing her ministrations.

"And I couldn't bear it. Everything within me...I was so hard. I was so scared to get out of that bed. I had to think of spiders and lions...it took Delia screaming at me before it was gone."

"And every time since?" She whispered.

He came. He couldn't hold it back any longer.

She stared at him, waiting his answer, after he'd regained some sense of self.

"Like you wouldn't believe," he finally managed to say, as she let him go. "I can't believe that those were your thoughts in our first love scene. You were so...professional. It kind of scared me."

She managed a laugh, coming up to press her magnificent breasts against his pecs. "Isn't it my turn now?" She whispered.

He could barely breathe. He was already hard again and he knew that she felt it against her legs.

Her breasts were so close.

* * *

It was a hot day, and Melinda was sweating. They'd just received news that TTS had been cancelled.

They were standing outside her mother's house, about to go in and confront Beth, when Delia called with the news.

Jim was frozen, standing next to her.

"I can't believe it," he whispered.

"I don't care."

"What?" He wondered.

"It sounds bad but I'm happy," she said, throat working. "I loved that show. I did. But now...there's us."

He pulled her into his arms, feeling her against him. "I might actually get what you mean. Two months ago this would have crushed me. But now? It doesn't even matter."

She exhaled. "We have to talk to my mother," she whispered.

"I know," he said. "We can take our time. It's been so amazing watching you finally get in touch with your gift." He laughed. "Who knew. You were more like Bel than I ever realized."

She laughed with him. "And you love it about it, "she said in wonder.

"I do," he told her. "I do."


	5. Two Lonely People (One Night Stand AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two lonely people meet in a bar. Lives change.

 

* * *

Act I: Introduction

* * *

Melinda stared across the bar, relishing the anonymity she had here, something new for her. No one was pointing at her. No one was mocking her. There were no angry parents screaming at her for corrupting their children.

That was what happened when you went just one town over, just driving the ten miles to Grandview and no one knew her here.

It really was such a small matter, she reflected again. It should have been such a small matter, but it was ruining her life. As it had always ruined her life. This was what Melinda Gordon got for trying to help: almost spending a night in jail, and getting fired from her job of teaching English at Paterson High School.

The outcry of public opinion was ever more powerful than anything else, like the truth.

She'd just been trying to help, she reflected miserably, burying her face in her arms. Penelope was suffering. And Melinda had been right there, witnessing that the reason she was struggling was because her dead boyfriend was haunting her. So she'd told Penelope. She'd helped the teenager...and she'd paid.

Of course.

Like she'd always paid for her gift to talk to the dead. It wasn't a gift. Melinda couldn't afford to say that anymore considering how long she'd been paying for it.

The bartender cleared her throat. "You've been sitting here for half an hour and you haven't even ordered a drink," she said, voice low and throaty.

"Vodka," Melinda said.

Behind her, she could feel the bar beginning to fill up with patrons. When she'd entered earlier, it had been far too early for there to be a nightlife but now people were beginning to drift in.

She got her glass of vodka, inhaled the scent, and placed it back on the bar.

"You don't seem like a vodka person."

She looked up in surprise, noticing someone who hadn't been there before, sitting on the opposite end of the bar.

"Maybe I'm not," she admitted. "I don't know what I am. I just want something to forget."

"We're in the same boat," he told her.

There was a pause. Melinda felt him looking at her, and then he stood up.

He was tall. Tall and broad shouldered. Blue eyes seemed to light up the room as he made his way towards her, carefully pulling out the stool next to hers. "May I?" He questioned.

"Yeah, sure," Melinda answered.

She couldn't help notice the muscles in his legs as he got onto the chair with ease, just as she noticed his gaze darting to her chest and then back to the bar.

"Get the lady a scotch," he asked the bartender before twisting in his seat to extend his hand to her.

He had...really nice arms.

"Jim Clancy," he introduced himself.

"Mel..." She trailed off, not taking the chance that he'd heard her name on the radio. She wasn't sure if Paterson's two man radio station was listened to by people who didn't live there.

She took his hand, felt his utterly envelope hers. Usually around men who were so much bigger than herself she felt intimidation; fear. She remembered Mr. Strauss and shivered. He'd been nothing but terror.

But Jim.

He shook her hand, with one quick, firm shake, and pulled it away. She wondered if she imagined the reluctance, but she definitely didn't imagine the way her skin scraped against his as their hands parted. She didn't imagine the sparks she felt.

Her scotch came.

"Take a sip," Jim urged. "You might like it. It's definitely not vodka."

She laughed and brought it up to her mouth. The style of the glass forced her nose inside and the scent of it hit her; it smelled good. Damn good.

She took a sip and it burned her mouth and throat, but in a way that lit her up, emboldened her.

It was a fire that she welcomed.

"So..." Jim said. "Why are you here?"

"Because no one knows me here," Melinda replied, knowing that she was avoiding the question.

"Fair answer," Jim said, chuckling a little. "I guess the real answer is none of my business."

"I don't want you to look at me differently," Melinda said honestly. "That goes before the real answer." She ducked her head, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye as she picked her glass up again.

Jim nodded, sobering.

"Why are you here?" Melinda whispered, unsure if he'd catch the words, not expecting him to tell her after what her answer had been.

"Grief," Jim said, briefly covering his mouth with one hand. "Loss."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"So am I," he replied without even thinking about it.

"You've probably heard that too much," Melinda said.

"Not from you," he said, much slower to reply this time.

Melinda uncrossed her legs, feeling more than seeing that his eyes followed the motion. She was still in her work clothes, but, not wanting to be sought out as a professional of sorts, she'd pulled the blouse off and was wearing only her lavender camisole.

With her floral skirt, a skirt that she'd hitched up so it looked less teacher-esque, she still looked far too bright for the bar, but her skirt was short enough now that it didn't matter.

She remembered folding the waistband over on her skirt, just not wanting to be thought of as anything like she really was, until her skirt was shorter than it had been in years, showing toned legs that she didn't really feel comfortable revealing.

It had made her feel like a school girl again.

Now, with Jim checking her out, she felt more assured that her simple 'disguise' was working. Any man she'd talked to while teaching had shied away from her, as if not wanting to get involved with a teacher, in her teacher-esque clothing that did nothing to attract them.

* * *

Act II: Interest

* * *

Jim watched the woman beside him, as she tossed her hair over one shoulder in a gesture of impatience, and not seduction. But his eyes still followed the motion; were still caught by the grace of it, of her slim wrists moving through the motion.

She lifted the glass of scotch to her lips again, again inhaling before taking a sip.

She obviously wasn't familiar with alcohol. Truth be told, neither was he. This trip to the bar was rare for both of them, he could tell.

The crowd behind them was getting rowdier, and someone shoved into the back of Mel's chair.

Mel.

"Watch it," Jim called, protectively sliding his arm across the back, not touching her.

"It comes with the territory, I think," Mel said, turning a little to watch what was going on behind her. Her gaze fell on his arm and stayed there for a moment.

He wondered if she'd tell him to remove his arm from the back of her chair.

Instead she leaned back into it.

He was wearing a cotton plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and his bare forearm was now pressed against her back, which was bare but for the tiny straps on her camisole.

He swallowed a little, feeling the press of her, the trust in her letting him support her in such a tiny matter.

"I feel like we aren't at the right bar," she said, eyes closed.

"Oh?" He asked, leaning closer to heard over the pounding of the music that had just started to play.

"We were supposed to be in one that'd be quiet and depressing but there's quite a nightlife developing behind us," Mel said, opening her eyes. If she was surprised to find his face so close to hers, she didn't say anything.

"Maybe you just have to wait until it becomes depressing again?" Jim questioned. "I...I don't really go to bars."

"Neither do I," she admitted.

They fell silent again, and he relished the heat of her face, so close to his. She hadn't moved away from him; it almost seemed like she'd edged closer.

"Do you know this song?" Mel wondered. "Because I don't."

"Yeah, I don't either," Jim said.

She started to move a little in her seat, pulling away from his arm.

She swayed to the beat, moving her arms a little, and then throwing them up in the air as the beat dropped.

And then she stood up, feet moving.

"Come on," she said, holding her hands out to him.

"Oh, I don't know," he said, hesitating.

She shrugged and swung out onto the dance floor alone, moving in ways that made his jeans tighter. It's an upbeat song, with 'deep' lyrics, Jim thought, and she was characterizing the mood of the song quite well, bouncing around and almost smiling.

It was Mel's first smile of the evening.

Jim sighed, wondering if he dared go out onto the floor and join her. He wasn't much of a dancer. It would only bring back memories.

And then Mel collided with a guy. A guy who stood in her path so that she'd collide with him because otherwise there was no way she wasn't paying enough attention to her path.

Jim saw their lips moving, she was backing up a little and the guy wasn't backing down.

So he stood up, weaved his way across the floor, until he reached Mel's side.

"Is he bothering you?" He asked, and she glanced over her shoulder at him, surprise in her eyes.

"I mean...yes," she said.

Jim met the other man's gaze, just staring him down.

He cowered, leaving the two on the dance floor.

Jim stepped closer to Mel as the dancers grew wilder, and he could feel the heat of her in front of him, almost touching.

Someone near them almost crashed into them and, by instinct, Jim grabbed hold of her shoulders and swung her away from their path.

And then he paused, feeling the weight of Mel's body press against his stomach for such a brief moment, feeling her taut arms beneath his. She pulled away and he stepped back, trying to not be disappointed, or at least not let his disappointment show.

"That isn't much of a dance," she said, staring up at him.

She was so much shorter than he was. Her head seemed to only reach his chest, and she was tilting her head all the way back to look him in the eyes.

"What do you mean?" He asked, mouth going dry.

She grabbed his hands, and pulled him back onto the dance floor.

Jim wasn't really a dancer. Maybe he could do a few moves in a classic setting, at a wedding or whatever, but he was too self conscious to just let the music move him.

Mel obviously didn't have such qualms, or, maybe, he reflected, she was so unused to alcohol that the small amount she'd consumed was enough to embolden her like this.

The song had switched to a more sensual one. The beat was almost sinful in and of itself.

But how Mel was moving to it?

That was...that was almost more than Jim could bear.

Her hips were swinging, shifting from side to side, and it seemed like she was moving closer with each sway. Her arms were up and down; she was moving her hands over her neck and bringing them to almost rest on her breasts as the song called for it.

She moved her hair off of her neck, lifting it up, twisting it, and then her eyes flew open, as if remembering that Jim was still there. That the rest of the bar existed.

Jim was almost scared of the looks on the men's faces around them, so he moved closer and slid his arms around her, claiming her then and there.

His hands rested on her lower back, and his arms, in their journey upward, brushed against her breasts.

He swallowed, just looking down at her.

They swayed to the music; it had become a slow dance.

Mel was staring up at him, and just the meeting of their gazes seemed to charge the room, become an electric force.

She shifted closer, if that were possible.

Her breasts were pressed against his stomach and she slowly lowered her head to rest on his chest. His breath caught at the tenderness of the moment, of feeling emotions that he'd never felt before, of a woman trusting him this much.

He'd never been trusted like this before. He felt like Mel was giving her all to him and they'd only known each other...had it even been an hour?

His memory went back to the moment he'd walked inside the bar, and she'd been slumped on the counter. It had taken him a moment to realize that she was just tired and not blackout drunk. She hadn't even ordered anything, he remembered the bartender commenting.

He could feel her exhale, and it seemed to burn through his shirt.

His hands seemed to move on their own, slowly cradling her face and tilting it up.

His neck slowly lowered his head, his lips, until they were only an inch away from hers.

Their breath mingled. He wasn't sure whether he could do this, whether he was prepared. He paused in the moment, breathing Mel in.

And then he closed the distance, letting his lips meet hers.

* * *

Act III: Pick Me Up

* * *

Kissing Jim was like nothing she'd ever experienced before.

His lips were soft, and the embrace was slow and tender, a huge difference from the brief encounters in her life that were characterized by the boy's carelessness, urgency and roughness.

Jim was moving slowly, tasting her, making her actually enjoy kissing.

His hands stayed on her back, not moving up to her chest the instant she gave him permission to touch her body, nor down to her ass.

She was kissing him back, she realized, moving against the pressure of his lips. She was the first one to open her mouth, and when their tongues touched for the first time, Melinda couldn't believe how good it felt.

She moaned, deep within her throat, restlessly moving closer to him, moving one leg up to brush the sharp bone of his hip. She could feel his erection through his jeans, as soon as she got close enough.

But she wasn't insulted, wasn't angry. She felt proud, emboldened. She, Melinda Gordon, had done this to a guy. But...he wasn't going apeshit crazy, wasn't letting his groin dictate the rest of his body's actions.

She pressed against him again, and the sound he made prompted a moan from her in return.

The music had grown loud again.

Melinda gradually guided them off the dance floor to a corner, and then she let the kiss change directions...or caused it to. Jim was so tender and slow, cherishing the moment, making Melinda feel like she was precious to him.

And she wanted more.

She pressed him against the wall, moving her leg up again, trying to hook it on his waist. She wanted...she wanted to feel him like that. She wanted the closeness. She didn't want an inch of space to be between their bodies.

He gasped; she felt the sound travel up his chest, and throat.

She moved her left leg in between his while her right still tried to cling on to him.

"Are you sure?" He panted, barely managing to even pull away.

"Yes," she said, pulling him back down.

And then it all changed.

His hands came to her waist, and spread wide; she could feel his pinky almost touching her hips, but his thumbs were up by her breasts. And he was lifting, without even bracing himself, he lifted her up, and she purred in appreciation, moving her legs to cling around his waist.

He groaned, and the movements of his tongue against hers became more frantic. She moved her hands away from his neck, where she'd been clinging until now, roaming down over his defined chest; pectorals and across to his arms. She could feel the muscle there, and it made her feel unbelievably charged, excited.

This was...this was what she'd been missing.

His lips slowly left her mouth, kissing down her neck. She threw her head back, feeling him suck at the delicate skin near her collarbone, and she itched for his mouth to move lower.

Lower.

Lower still.

His mouth rested on the edge of her breast, on the top of the crest of them. She arched her back, forcing his mouth lower, and finally, finally it was in the right place.

She could feel the heat of his mouth through the material of her bra; the camisole was dragged down as she moved. He located the nipple through the material of her bra and she couldn't believe how good it felt, moaning and arching against him, just trying to get closer.

There was an intense feeling building between her legs. A pounding.

She wanted...oh god. She wanted Jim.

So much.

His hands were moving up, at first not daring to leave her waist because she might drop, but her legs are so tight around his waist that he didn't have to worry.

She felt them, finally, move up to her breasts, to the clip of her bra.

Yes.

She wanted his mouth on her skin. She wanted him to fully taste her.

And then he stopped. Sound returned to her ears; she could hear them both panting.

"My...um..." He could barely speak, he was so breathless. "I've got an apartment near by."

She nodded fiercely, not wanting this to stop. "Good idea," she panted.

He slowly let her slide down his body until her feet touched the floor again.

She could feel his eyes on her, and then his arm slid around her, protecting her as they ran from the bar, to the world outside.

"How close?" She whimpered, feeling the pressure between her thighs building from the feel of Jim's arm tucked around her.

"Close," he moaned.

He led her up outside stairs, and unlocked a door.

Melinda didn't have high hopes. Yes, this would feel good. Yes, Jim would get a mind shattering orgasm. Yes, he'd play with her breasts and that would feel good. Maybe she might get close when he entered her.

But she doubted that, even with Jim, even with how he made her feel, she'd actually reach a climax tonight. She'd only had one orgasm in her life, over multiple sexual encounters with the same man, and a few guys in high school and college.

He closed the apartment door behind him, breathing a little as he stared down at her, gaze so intense that she wishes eye contact was enough to make her climax. My god. It almost is.

She shifted her thighs together.

Now that they're alone they grew a bit shy, but Melinda knew that it's not what either of them wanted.

"I don't...I don't have condoms," Jim confessed.

"Oh."

She didn't take the pill. She hated how it messed with hormones, and any long term solutions...well, she wasn't in a relationship. What was the point?

"I'm not on the pill," she confessed back. "But...I don't care." The words seemed to shock him so she quickly added, "There are other things we can do."

Meaning...he'd get a blow job. He'd get a blow job and Melinda would go back to hating life. At least with _sex_ she'd had a chance at an orgasm.

"You're right," he whispered.

They stared at each other for a moment longer.

Melinda sighed. Too late to back out now. She might as well get it over with.

She started to walk, taking a gamble on the door that would be his bedroom and opened it.

Jim followed close behind. She could feel his presence behind her and felt herself getting buzzed again, hormones coming back into play.

He closed the door behind them.

She stared at the bed in front of her. It was a double, neatly made. The quilt was blue.

His bedroom was neat.

She moved onto the bed, and tugged her camisole out of the waistband of her skirt, slowly pulling it from her body. She felt Jim's gaze intent on her, and could hear the increasing pace of his breath.

And then he moved onto the bed beside her, his hands covering hers.

She glanced up at him and, again, the intensity of his gaze almost made her falter. He took over the job, barely breathing as he pulled the camisole from her body, leaving her top half bare, breasts covered by a demi bra. Breasts _uncovered_ by a demi bra.

"Mel," he whispered.

The word jars her. She'd almost forgotten leaving off the rest of her name earlier but the word sounds good coming from him; right.

He pushed her back onto the bed, and she gasped as his hand snaked around to the back, supporting her as he unfastened her bra.

His breath was coming faster, and his gaze goes up to her eyes, meeting her stare. Then it was Melinda who couldn't breathe. He kept his gaze on her face as he pulled the bra from her body, as his arm came out from beneath her, and his hands covered her breasts.

His hands were rough. Big. She moaned as he pinched each nipple between two fingers on each hand, the tip only getting harder and more pebbled.

He almost smiled, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

And then, slowly, his head lowered again, leaving her face.

He kissed down her neck again, lingering at spots that drove Melinda crazy, not only because they felt good but because she knew his mouth on her breasts would feel better and she couldn't wait for that.

And finally, his mouth reached her breasts. His hands molded her nipples even more erect, teasing them, preparing them for his mouth. She made sounds that embarrassed her, but made her even wetter _down there_.

She wanted him. She wanted Jim Clancy.

And finally, his lips, mouth, teeth, tongue descended on one nipple. She cried out, almost wishing that he had more than one mouth, because how good it felt on one breast only served to make the other breast more sensitive, demanding of his attention.

He moved to the other nipple and her body seemed to buck against him of its own accord, thanking him for good it felt.

His hands fell to the waistband of her skirt.

Melinda wondered when he'd want to switch positions, when he'd grow tired of pleasuring her and take his jeans off.

He pulled the skirt from her body, moaning a little. "This skirt," he whispered against one breast. "You rolled the waistband up."

She nodded, unable to speak.

"That is so..." He didn't even finish the sentence.

There were only her panties left.

He tugged them from her body in slow motion, it seemed, the slowness only serving to heighten the nerve endings down there, make her want it even more.

And then his hands were down there, caressing up her thighs. Oh. God. Oh god.

His fingers entered her, teased her. She whimpered, unable to bear it. This felt so good. She was building, but she knew it wasn't enough.

She pressed her eyes closed, begging for it to be enough. Pleading for an orgasm. Asking her body to just let it happen.

And then the heat of his mouth left her breasts, leaving them immediately forlorn.

Until.

His mouth replaced his fingers.

And it felt...so...much...better.

And he was probing, and tasting...and it was like heaven. She couldn't imagine feeling this good. The pressure...oh, the pressure on her. Her body was building and building. This was nothing she'd ever felt before. It was so prolonged.

She couldn't breathe. She only tried to move her body closer, and then his mouth located _it_. That spot that she didn't like to think of by name. The spot her other boyfriends had pretended out of existence.

The moan that came from her was only quieter than the moan that came from Jim in return.

And she came.

Her body clenched around him, and she was almost weeping, clinging, and then let herself go, riding the wave out, leaving her trembling, and then still.

"You're still dressed," she whispered, a few moments later.

"Hmm?"

"You didn't even undress," she said, pushing herself up a little. She could see his erection through his jeans. God. That had to be painful.

She pushed him back on the bed, not even realizing that she was doing it, that she was initiating this. She pulled his shirt over his head, whimpering a little as his bare chest came into view.

She copied his motions, but not as a tit-for-tat kind of thing. Because she wanted to. Because she wanted to touch him. She wanted him to feel as good as he'd made her feel.

Lips, teeth, tongue descended on one nipple and then the other.

Hands swept over each muscled plane, just wanting to explore his body, lose herself in it, never forget, memorize what he felt like as well as what he looked like and what he tasted like.

She finally swept down to his belt buckle, and her hands slipped beneath it, palming him.

He gasped.

She slid his belt out, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. She needed his help to get the jeans off, but finally there he was in his boxers.

"So hard," she whispered.

He almost whimpered as she slipped the boxers down his hips.

Finally.

She didn't even hesitate. Her hands moved to grasp him, moving up and down. He was shuddering a little, panting, holding out for the good stuff.

Oh god. He deserved it.

She lowered her mouth, only wanting to please, only him to have it as good as he'd got.

She'd never known a man like him. Never.

She took him into her mouth, and he bucked against her as she'd bucked against him, restless and desperate.

And he came.

After, he leaned down and carefully guided her back up the bed, pulling her into his arms. His skin was slick with sweat. She felt the heat of his body, the strength in the muscles of his arms around her.

And she fell asleep in his arms.

* * *

Act IV: The Game

* * *

When she woke up, she was in a strange bed.

Details of the night slowly came back to her. She rolled over and there was Jim's back, bare and muscular. They'd separated in the night.

She slowly sat up, the sheet falling off of her body.

"Whoa! I didn't want to see!"

She jerked in surprise, turning to see a guy, a few years older than Jim, perched on Jim's radiator.

"What the..."

She grabbed Jim's t shirt from the floor, pulling it over her, concentrating.

Yes. He was a ghost.

"Who are you?" She said angrily. "And for god's sake, it was your fault for sneaking into Jim's bedroom."

"I'm his brother," the man said. "Dan."

"Jim had a brother?" She questioned. "What happened?"

Dan's gaze clouded, as ghosts always did when talking about their death.

"It was a stupid accident," Dan said, standing up. Then he froze. "Wait. You can see me. Hear me."

"You only just noticed that?" Melinda cracked.

"How?" Dan asked, amazement in his voice, instantly teleporting to be closer to her.

"It's a gift I have," she said. "If I can still call it a gift."

"Oh!" Dan said. "You're the teacher! I did hear about you."

She bit her lip. Even ghosts. Of course.

"How did you die, Dan?" She reminded him.

"It was a stupid accident," he repeated. "God. It was my fault. Um...Jim and I were repairing the roof at my place. I just...tumbled off. I was being reckless, taking risks. I was hecking around, trying to get Jim's attention and give him a panic attack. And I fell."

"Oh god, Dan," Melinda breathed.

"Yeah," Dan said. "I was stupid."

"So what happened after you fell?" She asked.

"I was lying there on the ground...Jim called 911. I remember the look on his face." Dan sighed. "The emergency responders took too long to come. My life might have been saved if they'd been faster."

Melinda felt tears in her eyes.

"Jim blames himself," Dan said. "Thinks if he'd called sooner...he couldn't have called sooner unless he'd called before I fell off the roof...he's trying to get a paramedic's degree now. He wants to do the job that failed him before. Failed me." Dan sighed. "But he didn't ace the necessary exam. That's why he was at the bar. He needs to start over, square one." Dan met her gaze. "Can you please be that for him? Give him what he needs?"

"How?" She asked.

"Tell him I love him," Dan said. "Tell him that I don't blame him, that it was my fault, but that I do definitely support him following this new dream. I want him to heal people. He'll be so good at it. I want him to know that there was no one I wanted at my side more than Jim in the last moments of my life."

He started to fade from view.

"Wait!" Melinda said. "What if that isn't enough?"

"What if what isn't enough?" And then Jim sat up in bed beside her.

* * *

It had, at first, been a relief to wake up and realize that Mel was still there.

It hadn't been a relief when she started talking, and it wasn't to him. Jim listened to the conversation, confused and a bit dizzy, because of what she was saying, how she was discussing things.

Brother. Gift.

Jim couldn't wait anymore, sitting up. "What if what isn't enough?" He asked, staring at her, confirming that she wasn't on the phone, that no one was there.

"Oh, god!" Mel said. "You heard?"

"You talked," Jim said. "What's up, Mel?"

"Your brother was here," she whispered. "Dan."

"What?" Jim asked, wondering if he was going crazy.

"I have a gift," Mel explained, tears in her eyes. "I didn't want you to know. It changes things."

He remembered her words from the bar.

"You can talk to the dead," he said slowly. "You were talking to my brother."

She nodded.

"What did he say?" Jim asked.

"What?" She said, voice shaking.

Jim's head was clearing. If Dan had been there...Jim could apologize. He could make it right.

"You believe me?" Mel asked, voice breaking over the words.

Jim met her gaze, blinking at her. That was what she was worried about?

"Of course I believe you," he whispered, voice tender, reaching out to touch the woman in his bed, caressing her cheek.

His hand met tears.

What had Mel been carrying in her heart all this time?

"Dan was here?" Jim asked.

"Yeah," she whispered. "He, um, told me how he died. How he was showing off and fell off the roof."

Jim nodded, remembering that day. They'd been having so much fun, just being stupid.

And then everything changed.

"He said you called 911, stayed with him..." Mel said. "Um...he said there was no one he'd have rather had beside him while he, um, died. That you were so comforting, so good. He said that you should keep trying to be a paramedic. He wants you to keep trying because...he wants others to have that comfort, of you being there."

Jim was crying now too. "Is he still here?" He asked.

"Yeah," she said.

"Oh, god, Dan, I'm so sorry!" He exclaimed. "I should have been faster. I should have tried harder. I'm so, so sorry!"

"It wasn't your fault," Mel said urgently. "Never your fault. Dan doesn't want you to blame yourself. Not now, not ever."

Jim's shoulders shook. "Dan, I love you. I didn't tell you that. You meant so much to me, big brother."

"You meant so much, little brother," Mel whispered. "And I'm sorry."

Silence.

"He wants to cross over," Mel said, touching Jim's shoulder. "Can you let him go?"

Jim managed to nod. "Go. Um. Where?"

"Into the light, heaven," Mel said.

"Yeah, go, Dan, go see Dad," Jim told him.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, weighing heavily. And then it was gone. Dan was gone. Jim could tell.

He breathed in, feeling lighter.

Mel was there, moving closer to him.

He reached his arms, pulled her near. She rested her head on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Mel," he whispered.

"Melinda Gordon," she told him. "My name."

And then she told him _her_ story. About how she was just trying to help a student through her grief. About how a small town had crucified her, saying she was a witch. How she'd lost her job. How everyone knew her and pointed her out.

How everyone hated her now.

Her voice broke over the words, as everything came out. She got off the bed, tears in her eyes, waiting for him to cast her out. "How could anyone not hate me?" She managed to say.

" _I_ love you," Jim said, his voice raw.

He moved to the edge of the bed and pulled her back against him.

Their lips met.

* * *

Act V: Resolution

* * *

She'd never known a man like Jim Clancy.

She reached over to take his hand, clinging to it like a lifeline.

He swept her into his arms, her white dress trailing behind her.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you," he replied, kicking the door shut behind them.

The collar on his tux needed to be straightened.

"Let me help you with that, Mr. Clancy," she whispered.

"Oh, no, Mrs. Clancy," he said, leaning to kiss her again. "It'd be a waste of time considering how soon I won't even be wearing it."

Mrs. Clancy. Well, she hadn't actually taken his name, but Mrs. Clancy was alright in private.

Melinda leaned in and kissed him back.

"I love you," she repeated.

"My feelings haven't changed in the past two minutes," he teased.

"Say it back," she murmured, kissing around his mouth.

"I love you," he breathed. "From the moment I first met you. From the moment you rescued me."

"Oh, no, Jim Clancy, you're the one who rescued me," she rebutted.

"We saved each other then," he compromised.

"You were my knight in shining armor," she told him.

"You were my kiss to wake me from my sleeping spell," Jim said. "I love you, Melinda."

"I love you, Jim."

On and on. As their wedding night ran on, as their hands roamed each others' bodies, as they touched each other and loved each other, as he entered her, the words went back and forth like a code.

I love you.

I love you.


	6. Tumblr Prompt #1

So this is a prompt from tumblr and I don't remember to whom it originated but I'm sure if you google it you can get correct authorship and I give them full ownership over the prompt itself, though this little fic is all mine:

**I accidentally egged the wrong house and I'm trying to apologize but it's one in the morning and you're pissed off and I'm so sorry**

* * *

"Just do it," Andrea growled at her over the phone. "You've got the eggs and you cannot chicken out now. He's an asshole and he broke your heart and now he's moving in with his pretty new girlfriend, well, it's halloween night and you are going to have fun with it."

Melinda swallowed, before finally stepping from the car, egg cartons clutched to her chest, bumping the door shut with her hip.

"You're right," she whispered, voice low. "They'll just think it was troublesome boys. So what's Anna's address?"

"220 Maple," Andrea said. "Which you are parked right in front of. We went over this already."

"Fine," Melinda sighed. "And they're at the party?"

"Yes," Andrea hissed. "I'm looking right at them. He's rolling his eyes and she's trying to convince him to go off with her so you need to hurry!"

Melinda licked her lips. "Okay, hanging up now. Wish me luck."

"Aim high," Andrea said. "So they have to wait until it rains before it's all gone."

Melinda nodded, before realizing that Andrea couldn't hear her and simply hung up the phone, thinking she'd put it in her pocket before remembering that her costume didn't really have one. She'd 'borrowed' her roommate's costume from last year; a sexy pumpkin, with a half pumpkin mask for the face, and a loose fitting orange tunic with a jack o lantern face on it.

She'd put black leggings and a black sweater on underneath though, making it much less revealing.

The mask made her feel brave.

She carefully climbed over the white picket fence (hadn't Kevin said he'd never get one of these?) and into the yard, edging just a bit closer, opening one carton. She'd had no idea how many she'd want or need, and she'd gotten three dozen.

And then she let fly.

The first egg hit with a satisfying squelch on the upper story window. She let another one fly, and another, and his upper story windows were fairly covered with egg.

It was then that a light within the house switched on.

For a moment she just dumbly stared, wondering what the hell she did now. Why was someone home? Kevin and Anna were at the party.

And then she realized what was happening, dropping to her knees and fumbling for the egg cartons and her phone. Shit. Shit.

Getting caught was so not part of the plan.

She could see a light downstairs being turned on and the person inside had to be just moments away from running outside and finding her there, ready to lambast her. Oh god, what if it was Kevin's mom or something? She could not face Marilee at this time. She was a fucking bitch, even worse than her son.

But oh god, she couldn't find her phone and she could leave the eggs but not the phone because Kevin would immediately recognize the phone case and she couldn't let that happen. She'd do whatever but she had to get her fucking phone.

The door was open.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" It was a male voice. Maybe one of Kevin's friends was visiting. Considering that he'd never introduced her to any of his friends, that shouldn't be as big of a problem.

She found her phone, scrambling up off of her knees and taking off running, before remembering the fence.

Oh god.

They were chasing her. The guy was chasing her and she made a desperate leap at the fence but it didn't matter because he'd already caught her, shoving her down to the grass.

"Damn punks," he cursed, his body pinning her to the ground. "I am so telling your parents."

She just lay there in misery, waiting for him to figure out that she wasn't, in fact, a punk. She could feel every inch of his hard body pressing into her and he was tall, he had to be, and his legs were boxing her hips in, and his package was right against her ass, and he seemed to be realizing that too, that this wasn't the ass of a twelve year old boy because he was rolling off of her.

He was still angry though; he yanked her to her feet and jerked her mask off.

"What the hell?" He asked, voice flat, eyes traveling over her feminine face and pumpkin costume.

"I was trying to, um, trying...I thought you were….I thought no one was home," she said. "I must have the wrong house. Is this 220 Maple?"

"It's 222," he said, crossing very muscular arms over a very muscular chest.

He was standing at least a foot above her; she was wearing black nikes for ease of running and because they were dark and she'd really appreciate some heels now because he was massive.

"Fuck," she whispered.

His eyebrows raised. "How old are you?" He asked.

"27," she said, jutting her chin up. "Listen, I am so sorry and I'll pay to have it cleaned. It's just that my ex, Kevin, just broke up with me to move in with the girlfriend he got pregnant while still together with me and my friend convinced me to egg their house while they were at a party and...it wasn't their house, I guess."

"Kevin and Anna from next door?" He asked, shaking his head. "He is always blocking my driveway when he parks."

"Yeah, he does that," Melinda sighed.

He looked at her again, shaking his head more, gaze just raking over her costume again. "Stay there," he warned. "Don't make me tackle you again."

"Of course," she said, cheeks smarting.

He walked back to get the egg cartons, and she could see how damn fine his ass was from the light of the streetlamp as he bent down to pick them up, coming back over to her.

"Come on," he said, taking her by the arm.

"Are we going to the police?" Melinda asked, scrambling after him, noting his bare feet and hoping not.

"No, we're going to egg Kevin and Anna's house," he said. "Well, come on!"

* * *

Jim looked at the pumpkin at his side, hurrying to keep up with him. But of course he'd go along with such a noble mission. God, he hated cheaters.

Once you'd be cheated on...you never quite got over it. And he'd gotten her pregnant too.

It was like living his past all over again.

Except he'd never had the guts to go over to Stephanie and Derek's house to egg it.

He stole another glance at this pumpkin; she'd said she was twenty-seven but she was at least a foot shorter than him.

And something in him found that incredibly hot. Stephanie had been about 5'10" and she'd had a very obvious appeal in her long limbs but he remembered how this pumpkin's ass had felt against him as he'd pinned her to the ground and suddenly couldn't remember why he'd ever thought of Stephanie's stick thin body as attractive.

This pumpkin...well, the jack o lantern part of her costume was most definitely concealing her body shape from view, but from what he'd felt...she had curves. Hella curves.

Her legs were short and strong, encased in tight black leggings beneath the costume and he thanked god for the streetlamps. She had really nice legs.

He walked straight into Kevin and Anna's yard. "For future reference, they don't have a fence," he told her.

"I didn't think they would," she admitted. "Kevin thought they were stupid. Common."

"Just because everyone has them doesn't make them stupid," Jim said. "It makes them a shared dream, a common thread." He stifled a yawn, remembering that he'd had the night paramedic shift for the past three days and this was the first night he'd had to sleep in forever and he was exhausted.

"Exactly," she replied, triumphant.

Jim picked an egg from the carton. "That reminds me," he said, weighing it in his hand. "Nice aim. But I can do better."

He let fly, and it hit right above the only place that didn't have roof beneath it. "Good luck getting that off," he said, turning back to her and offering her the carton.

She still looked doubtful. "I feel like this is a trick," she said, taking an egg. "Why are you helping me?"

"Maybe because I've been in the same situation," Jim said, meeting her gaze. "My girlfriend got pregnant. I wasn't the father. I know this because she'd said she wanted to wait. Apparently, only with me."

Her gaze faltered and then she turned, the egg flying from her hand, landing on a high window.

"Fuck them all," she muttered, and suddenly they were both throwing eggs, letting them fly.

Her phone rang and she dug it out.

"Abort, they left forever ago and I meant to call you but I was making out with Herb," came a female voice over the phone.

"Oh god," the girl said. "Thanks, Andrea."

Jim watched as she grabbed his hand, pulling him away with her, both suddenly laughing with delight and shared mischief.

"Hey, now I have an alibi," Jim said, as they ran back into his yard, panting up onto the front porch. "My house was egged too."

They just stood there for a moment. "I'd move my car but it's a rental and Kevin won't recognize it," she said, and Jim suddenly realized how very close they were suddenly standing.

And suddenly he wasn't tired at all anymore.

"Jim," he suddenly offered, sticking out his hand.

"Melinda," she replied, taking it and her hand was chilled in his and he only wanted to warm it up.

And then they were just staring at each other for another long moment.

"I don't even know you," Melinda suddenly said. "But kiss me."

His heart seemed to stop.

She licked her lips, slow and nervously. "Please," she breathed, moving closer to him.

And he did.

* * *

Jim's lips were soft, warm, plump. He tasted like toothpaste, like he'd honestly been sleeping when she'd woken him up and she felt so guilty.

Except that guilt was quickly turning into thankfulness because he knew how to kiss people. His lips teased hers, he tugged her lower lip into his mouth and then he was running his tongue along the seam of her lips, asking her to open up to him.

And she was whimpering, already into it, wrapping her arms around his neck to hold on because he was so fucking tall and she felt like she had to hold onto him to keep him there, keep him hers.

And he was straightening, taking her with him, lifting her in his arms and nudging the door open, fumbling with the knob.

And she wasn't the type of girl to do this. But there were times in a woman's life when she could throw all caution to the wind.

"Take me to bed," she whispered, wrenching her lips from his to whisper the words in his ear. "Jimmy."

And she wasn't sure why she said it, but the growl in the back of Jim's throat told her she'd made the right move to turn him on because he was carrying her upstairs.

And he could have been a serial killer but at this point she wasn't sure she cared because at least she'd die happy, Jim's lips on hers and his arms wrapped around her.

She vaguely registered his bedroom when he kicked the door open, laying her on the bed. It didn't look like a serial killer's room. It looked clean and bare, like he'd only just moved in himself...or was moving out.

But his lips were on hers and she didn't care again. And he was only wearing a t shirt and pajama pants and the shirt was doing nothing to hide his muscles and the pants...were doing nothing to hide his erection, which he was trying so hard to not press against her, not make her uncomfortable.

So to disillusion him of that notion, she pressed her hips against him, arching upwards and he groaned, deep in his throat.

"You're wearing too many clothes," she whispered.

"You're wearing more," he returned.

"Then tit for tat," she breathed, and he slowly pushed off of her, peeling his shirt over his head, every single muscle in his body seeming to ripple, visible because of the light from the moon and the streetlamps flooding his bedroom.

She grabbed the hem of her pumpkin costume, peeling it over her head, kicking her shoes off, and he paused on his pants to watch her. She was now only wearing very form fitting black leggings and a black turtleneck and he was most definitely straining to see her in the dark so she moved closer to the window on the bed, into the patch of moonlight there as she took her shirt off.

And she wasn't an exhibitionist. She really wasn't. And undressing like this with Kevin had always been uncomfortable.

But Jim's eyes were following her so closely and she hadn't even taken her shirt off yet and somehow she felt confident enough to pull the shirt over her head, baring her bright orange jack o lantern bra, wondering if he'd find it stupid, but the sharp inhale as she revealed it made her think no.

She reached around to undo the clasp but he was climbing back on the bed with her, shaking his head, and her hands fell away.

"Let me do it," he whispered, and she nodded, seeing his adam's apple jump, his throat working.

And his hand was snaking around her, finding the clasp, undoing it after a momentary fumble that was just unsure enough to endear him to her but just experienced enough to make her feel even wetter between the legs, sure she was about to get some, and get it good.

"This bra is ridiculous," he murmured. "I love it."

She was going to smile but he was slipping it off, throwing it over her shoulder, and the look on his face as her breasts were revealed made her breath catch in her throat.

"But not as much as I already love what it covers," he groaned, letting her fall back onto the bed, his hands immediately cupping her breasts, moaning again.

She felt his thumbs glide over her puckered nipples, then roll them between thumb and index finger and his hands were so big, so rough and the ache between her thighs turned into an insistent pounding, and she moaned, about to arch her hips into his, give him a healthy hint, but his mouth was on her neck, and traveling down and all thoughts in her brain fried because his lips were around one nipple, and his tongue was so wet and hot, swirling over it, around it, relieving the tension there and making it even worse at the same time and he moaned, switching to the other nipple, repeating the moves, his hand covering the first nipple as he did so, before traveling down her stomach to her waist, hooking in the tight waistband of her leggings.

She gasped as his hands started to ease them down, rolling them down, rolling them over her hips, tugging extra there, and he seemed to be in awe of that fact because he moved all attention to tugging them off, going back on his knees, his eyes dark with lust, traveling over every bared inch.

And she was left in bright orange lace panties. "God, you really take this halloween thing seriously," he moaned.

She could only nod, and he peeled the leggings off of the rest of her legs, throwing them to the ground.

"Take off your pants," she whispered, as he reached for her panties, his fingers already hooked in the waistband.

* * *

Fuck, she was good at making him lose all control.

He pulled back again, his eyes caught by the heave of her breasts as she pushed herself up on her elbows to watch him.

God, he hoped he favorably compared to Kevin. But considering the size of Kevin's hands…

Jim closed his eyes and dropped his pants, stepping out of them, opening them again to find Melinda on the edge of the bed, openly admiring him.

"I—"

But her hand was touching him, gently wrapping around him. "Do you have a condom?" She asked, and the implication was enough to make him pulse in her hand.

"I think so," he rasped.

She slipped to the ground in front of him. "Where?" She asked, her bare breasts brushing his erection and he groaned loud enough to wake the dead.

"Bedside table. In the drawer?" He offered and she stood up, deliberately pressing herself against him as she went up, walking to the table and opening the drawer, pulling out one little foil packet and opening it on the tab, walking back over.

She cocked a brow at him. "You could lay back," she offered.

He couldn't even move but he found himself on the bed, and she moved between his legs, carefully sliding it on, and it was such a heavy moment, and he couldn't even breathe from the touch of her hands and the heat of her.

And then she was climbing over him, straddling his stomach. "I don't know how to take my panties off at this point," she breathed.

And that was enough. Enough to awaken something primal and instinct based in him, and he was flipping her underneath him, sliding her panties down her hips, and she was already wet, hot, aching for him when his fingers slipped inside her and they both moaned long and loud at that moment, and it would have been embarrassing but for the intensity of the moment, the intimacy, how their breathing suddenly matched the others, and how it was just them, pulses and skin and pounding heartbeats, gasps and whimpers, how no matter where he touched her, she only grew wetter, pounding against him, and he couldn't wait any longer, plunging into her, filling her, bracing himself above her as he entered her, moving inside her, going again and again.

She was gasping, crying out to him, and her fingernails were on his back, clawing at him and he was getting so damn close.

"Are you almost there?" He whispered, biting at her neck.

She arched her hips into his, choosing the angle, moaning loudly. "I think so," she managed, clinging to him, one leg coming to wrap around his waist, and he knew he was there, unable to hold out longer, pulsing into her with a cry that was only muffled by her shoulder against his mouth.

She was gasping, her eyes glazing over but she wasn't there yet and oh god.

He pulled out, and she whimpered in disappointment, but he was shifting down her body, feeling her foot drag over his back, until it was hooked over his shoulders, his neck, and she was staring at him.

"Oh, you really don't have to, I rarely climax," she breathed. "It's fine."

"I really do, and it isn't," he said, and her leg over his shoulders clenched and she was whimpering again, trying to prepare herself for his mouth, but from the way she bucked against him, arching into his mouth, she hadn't been able to.

Her hands were on his head, tangled in his hair, keeping him there, and he was swirling around her, his tongue finding that one spot, and she was keening, trying to hold on, and he only redoubled his efforts, knowing that, at least according to his exes, this was his strong suit and he'd be damned if she didn't…

But she was screaming, flooding over his lips, the taste of her filling his mouth.

He moved up on the bed, and her eyes were wide, and she rasped his name. "Oh, god, Jim, I don't think I've ever had sex like this."

It was the first time she'd said his name.

"Same, Melinda," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. And he was fucking exhausted, and her body was so warm, and he was reaching out, pulling her into him, and he just wanted to sleep, but he didn't want her to leave.

He was exhausted, about to drop off at any second, but he knew that he didn't want her to leave.

* * *

When Melinda woke up, she was alone in the bed and light was flooding the bedroom. It took her a very long moment to remember where the hell she was, but she darted up in the bed, throwing the sheets aside.

Her phone was on the floor, somehow, and she dived at it, seeing at least ten messages from Andrea.

Where are you?

Did you get caught?

Melinda!

Should I call the police? Or did Kevin already do that?

Melinda! Reply to me!

Oh god, she'd forgotten all about Andrea.

But she needed clothes, and she was not going to put on any of her clothes from last night so she went to his closet, sliding the door open and seeing stiff blue shirts there; creased blue trousers. He was a paramedic; she recognized the symbol on the shirts.

She could live with that, she reflected, and the words shocked her.

She didn't feel like taking a clean shirt so she ended up grabbing the plaid flannel shirt hanging over the door, buttoning it; it fell clear down to her thighs. It smelled like him, male, musky. And it was soft.

She left the bedroom, wondering where the hell he was, texting Andrea.

Met someone. Hot sex. Got distracted. Tell you more later.

She then turned the phone off because she really didn't need distractions right now.

She crept down the stairs, wondering where she'd find him, wondering if she should just steal his shirt and run outside, driving away.

Surely he wouldn't have taken down her license plate number.

She swallowed, edging towards the door, cell phone with the car keys attached clutched in her hand, but then she heard a throat clear behind her and whirled around.

Jim was standing there, looking impossibly tall and muscular. "Running away?" He asked, walking forward. "Your list of crimes seems to grow ever bigger. And stealing my shirt." He clicked his tongue, his fingers coming to straighten the collar while he took a sip of coffee.

She licked her lips, eyes sweeping over him, from his long sleeved blue sweater that only brought out his eyes (she hadn't noticed their clear blue last night and she had a feeling that he was also noticing new things about her that he hadn't noticed last night; in the light of day, everything was changing.

"Is there more coffee?" She finally asked, and he smiled at her.

"In the kitchen," he offered, and she walked past him to there, looking around her for a mug but when she located them she couldn't reach it on the shelf.

And Jim was there, body warmth close behind her, reaching a long arm out and effortlessly snagging the mug.

"You know," he breathed. "You could stick around until Kevin calls the police and we could have some fun with it."

Prolong the experience, she added in her mind, catching a glimpse of his face, and wondered if he was feeling the same way.

Still behind her, arms just reaching around her, he poured her a mug, and then he drifted away so that she could drink it.

It was really good coffee, even black, which she could never stand.

She licked her lips again, turning to face him. "I could live with this," she said suddenly.

"Live with what?" He wondered, startled.

"Waking up to this...to you...to this coffee," she said, folding her arms. "Waking up in your bed, more plainly put."

His eyes were darkening and he set his mug down. "I could live with the sight of you in my shirt every day too," he murmured.

"So can we give this a try?" She asked, licking her lips again.

He just nodded, slow and steady. "I would really like that."

And then they just smiled at each other, finished the excellent coffee...and then watched the show as Kevin and Anna vainly tried to get some of the egg off.

Really, life didn't get much better than this.


	7. Tumblr Prompt #2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another tumblr prompt! Most of these I am getting from http://onetruepairingideas.tumblr.com. Authorship is from there too but I can't pinpoint individual authors.
> 
> GhostWhispererFangirl and I were discussing about how to do it, if Jimel should be strangers; have met each other, etc. and she suggested that this takes place after the events of them meeting in The Night We Met.
> 
> SO
> 
> They met when her apartment building was on fire, he threw her slipper at her, they went out for lunch or whatever that meal was and ate hot dogs...and then they lost track of each other and haven't seen each other since then.
> 
> The episode aired in November so it's again that I'm twisting it a little...they met in April and this is June. A very hot June. So a few months have gone by instead of more than half a year...don't need Jimel getting hypothermia from swimming in a lake in January or something.

**"i'm swimming laps in a lake alone at night and i thought no one else was here but i just swam right into you and uh? you're not wearing a shirt and you're hot as hell please take me right here" au**  

* * *

 

It had to be the hottest June that Melinda had ever lived through. It was definitely one of the records in NYC, and she'd been asking friends for weeks if they just had a cabin she could stay at for a weekend, because not only was it hot in NYC, she was going crazy because of her job.

And then, lo and behold, her roommate Holly's newest boy toy had heard Melinda moaning about it and had offered his parent's cabin, in upstate New York.

"They're on vacation in the Caribbean right now," Peter said earnestly. "And hell, if you're out of the apartment for a weekend, that's a vacation for me and Holly too. We get to walk around naked."

"Like you don't already," Melinda shot back. "Thank you. I just need to talk to my boss and then I am so stealing your keys."

He nodded, chuckling. "Take them now," he said, wiggling the key from his keyring and holding it out to her. "Seriously. They're on this cruise for another month or so. Just don't spill wine on the white carpet, you know? There won't be any fresh food; maybe some packaged. And try to clean up after yourself; but if you don't, they always hire cleaners anyway and they'll just think it was me."

"Thank you," Melinda said, as Holly entered the room again.

"Whoa, you makin' a move on my boy?" Holly said, sinking into Peter's lap.

"The very opposite," Melinda said, just a little giddy at the thought of finally getting out of the city. "He's giving me a way to ditch you guys."

"I gave her the key to my parents' cabin upstate," Peter said. "The one you said you didn't want to go to."

"That's because it's not one of the cool ones; it's an actual cabin," Holly complained. "An expensive one, sure, but there's no one around for miles and no nightlife. If it was a cool cabin that was actually, I don't know, near people, then I'd want to go."

"You are such an extrovert," Peter sighed. "You act like you need people around for you to be able to breathe."

He smiled at Melinda again. "Now hurry up and start packing so we can have sex in your bed."

"Don't you dare," Melinda joked, scrambling off of the couch to get away from them as Holly started to make out with him.

* * *

Fast forward a few days later and she'd left NYC after work on Friday; it was nearing ten o'clock at night and the AC in her car had suddenly gone out.

It was hot as hell.

She checked the map one more time, then breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the cabin. The windows in her car were open, letting in a minor breeze, but the sweat was trickling down everywhere, making her stick to her seat as she jumped from the car, trying the key in the lock, rejoicing when it fit, proving that she'd gotten to the right place. And it had taken her about the exact travel time estimated.

That made her happy. It was proof to herself, and her mother, that she could be an independent woman.

And that she could get places without asking ghosts for help.

She took her bags from the car and locked it; there was no one around and she hadn't passed anything for miles but there was no reason to be an idiot about things, and walked inside the cabin.

It was decently sized, by no means 'just' a cabin as Holly had complained. There was plumbing; Melinda had triple checked with Peter on that fact. No wifi, phone connection or any sort of service, but wasn't that why she was here?

There were three bedrooms, the master and two that Peter had said he and his sister had slept in growing up.

There was linen packed in plastic containers in each bedroom and Melinda carefully made the bed, the activity only making her sweat more, the droplets of perspiration rolling from her face down her neck, in between her breasts. Which was most definitely the worst place to sweat.

Though it did have plumbing, Peter had warned her that it took a while for the water to come, and Melinda walked back outside, looking at the lake before her in contemplation.

No one around for miles. Living or dead. And she double checked on that second one.

But considering all the times a ghost had appeared in the shower with her, she was past the point of affording to care.

She reached for the hem of her tank top, dragging it over her head, unsnapping her bra as she went.

She never did this. She'd never been the daring one, she'd never been able to afford it from going to the weirdest girl in high school straight to the person who'd actually worn a costume in college.

Straight to being Kevin's ex.

Straight to getting escorted out of her smoking apartment by the one man who'd interested her since, who'd shown an interest in her in return...but they hadn't exchanged numbers. It had been up to him; she'd been waiting tensely for about a month, hoping he'd show up outside the building because otherwise, she didn't know how to contact him.

Jim. That was his name. And he'd wanted to know how she knew. He hated secrets.

God. She should have tried harder to keep him around that night, instead of just running off to go shopping.

She unbuttoned her shorts and slid the denim cutoffs down her hips, wiggling to get the tight waist over her hips, hesitating at her panties.

She would feel so freaking vulnerable without them. But oh god, what did she have to be afraid of? No one was here.

She pulled the panties off, shivering more from the odd sensation of being pantyless than from it being cold because the earth still felt baked beneath her bare feet.

She walked into the water, immediately shivering, feeling her nipples pebble, and every inch of skin get covered in goose bumps.

She was in barely up to her thighs, and she was already shivering but suddenly she didn't care. There was still sweat clinging to private places.

She dived into the lake, moving her arms in a breast stroke, swimming hard to keep warm in the cool water. She was in the middle of the lake in moments, treading water, enjoying the feel of the lake swallowing her up.

She swam to the opposite side, feeling the glide of the water over every bare part of her, realizing that it felt good again, that the shivering had worn off. She could do this forever, or at least not stop anytime soon. That she should have done this before now.

And it was then that she rolled onto her back, floating in the water, finishing up her third lap by going back to treading water in the middle.

And that was when she turned at the sound of a splash.

"What?" She hissed, panicking as she looked around her for the source of it but she didn't see anything. Her racing heart slowly calmed and she turned around, seeing nothing, until a head suddenly broke the calm surface of the lake.

"Oh my god!" She almost screamed, not sure if it was a ghost or a living person, but he was right there and her foot brushed him and he was so not a ghost.

And he seemed just as scared as she was, jerking backwards until they both calmed.

"What the hell?" She managed. "No one is supposed to be on this lake."

His head was down, he was coughing water from the surprise and then he looked up. Blue eyes met her. Cool blue eyes that she knew.

"Jim?" She breathed, unable to believe her eyes.

"Melinda," he whispered back. "The girl from the fire and the…" He cleared his throat, licking his lips. "What are you doing here?"

"My friend's parents have a cabin," Melinda managed, suddenly seeing that he could be just as nude as she was; he most definitely wasn't wearing a shirt and goddamnit, those shoulders looked even broader when he wasn't in uniform. "And I drove down and the AC in my car was broken and I was sweating to death so I decided to take a few laps and somehow you're here."

He cleared his throat, gaze skating to her exposed chest, as if wondering the same thing that she was. "I'm camping," he said. "I go camping here...a lot."

And then there was silence. He was treading water too, rising up a little, and she could see very well defined pecs before he sank back down into the water.

"Okay, is this actually happening?" Melinda blurted. "Because this seems more like a wet dream than reality. Pun not intended."

She flushed even more then, at the insinuation that she had wet dreams...or that he did.

He was just looking at her again, and his gaze was dark; the pupils in his icy eyes were growing fatter, his gaze again dipping to her chest. "I think it's real," he rasped. "Because this is too unplanned for it to be a dream."

"You tell me and I'll tell you," Melinda gasped, feeling the area between her thighs pound to life as her heartbeat quickened.

That night they'd met...had been pretty crazy all on its own. But now? This was even crazier and oh, god, this was the one man she'd had a yearning to meet again, from all of her random run-ins with people in the city.

Because he seemed intrigued by her...odd side, instead of turned off.

"Tell you what?" Jim asked.

"If you're wearing anything right now," Melinda whispered. "Because I'm going to go crazy if I don't find out."

* * *

This had to be a dream. There was no other explanation for Jim currently treading water in the middle of the lake with, quite possibly, the most alluring woman he'd ever met. The woman who currently had him harder than a rock and he was in the middle of a not that warm lake and such circumstances would usually have him hiding.

But with her there, with Melinda, the woman that he'd been trying to get the courage and the time to seek out again right there, most likely nude...his brain was frying and his erection was pounding and he felt more aroused than he'd ever been.

She had been clutching her arms to her chest, but she'd grown tired of treading water and she'd let them sweep out, using them to help keep her afloat, and he could see more of her breasts now.

And he was a male. And he couldn't help staring. Especially when he'd been on this camping trip for two whole days now and he hadn't seen anyone, hadn't been expecting to see anyone, and a late night dive in the lake to put him to sleep was instead waking him up more than he ever thought possible. When she was looking so fucking gorgeous that breath was getting hard to come by.

"Um…" He said in response to her question, and she slowly edged closer, one hand reaching out and grazing his shoulder, then grabbing hold of the slick muscle.

"I'm getting tired of treading water," she breathed, her pupils dilating as she looked at him. "Answer the question. Please." She licked her lips, rising a little as she got a firmer grip of his shoulder, exposing more of her breasts and Jim moaned low in his throat, seeing the vaguest edge of areola.

"I'm still in my boxers," he breathed.

"Ooh, too damn bad," she whispered, moving back away from him. "Because I...am not wearing a single shred of clothing."

She was floating back away from him, swimming back towards her side of the lake.

"So that's it?" He called after her, voice just the tiniest bit raw. "We pretend we didn't see each other again, we pretend that this isn't as much as fate as life damn well gives anyone?"

She turned around, meeting his gaze. "I don't believe in fate," she said, a bit sternly. "I believe in choices. And if you don't choose to follow me...well, then, it's your fault."

It took him a stunned moment to realize that it was an invitation that she issuing, and he swam after her, strong arms carrying him in a swift strokes until he was right behind her, and she halted suddenly, letting him crash into her.

She wasn't lying.

His arms came around her slick body, wondering what was even happening, still feeling like this was a dream because this still seemed as likely as catching a mermaid.

Maybe she was a mermaid. Maybe that was her secret.

But for a mermaid, she had fucking real legs, twisting through his. He was holding her from behind, unsure of where this would lead and her back was so soft against his chest, shapely, wet and warm. His bicep was slid around her waist, and the bobbing of the water was bringing her breasts damn near close to touching his arm and he let out a hiss of breath when they did.

"Can I make love to you?" He found himself saying, mouth near to her ear, unable to resist reaching out to nip at the lobe, grabbing between his lips and tugging at it because he had to taste some part of her. See if she was real.

She moaned, arching her hips into his erection, pressing her ass against him. "I thought you'd never ask," she breathed. "Take me now."

His lips found her neck, and sucked the water from her skin there, feeling more than a little lightheaded because these kinds of things didn't happen in real life.

He slid his hands down, gripped her hips firmly and turned her in his arms, gasping as she grabbed hold of shoulders and pulled herself to him, flattening her breasts against his chest, and he could feel every smooth, and then bumpy, contour.

He lowered his head and captured her mouth, pulling her lips to his. She tasted like lake water and magic, like impossibilities, like wildest dreams coming to life and being better than anyone could possibly imagine.

Her arms were around his neck, pulling herself upward until her face was above him, and she was leaning down to kiss him, the angle just right for her. If he remembered correctly, she was quite shorter than him, so maybe this was a reprieve for her usually having to strain up to kiss guys who were taller than her.

His hands came up, gently brushing her breasts, and she jerked a little, obviously not ready to finish the making out stage.

Fair enough. Even sirens had a liberty to be shy at the beginning.

He tried to move his hands away but they were reluctant, and he compromised, letting them rest on her arms, dragging up and down, rubbing to warm her up and then going up to cup her face, angling her closer, and she sighed, so tiny, so small in the back of her throat, and then made a sound of contentment that reminded him of the purr of a cat, not in sound but in how it was made.

He moaned in return, his mouth opening to her and her tongue swept into his mouth, finding his tongue, darting back for a moment but he chased after her until it was an equal game, their tongues moving with equal confidence and eagerness.

She broke the kiss, her hands braced on his shoulders, just gasping for breath a little, and he moved his lips down her neck, teasing and nibbling at the skin there.

His lips found her pulse, ever a paramedic, feeling a smile curve his lips when it jumped at his touch, and he moved his lips to the vee between her neck and shoulder, sucking at her again, tasting her.

She sighed again, tilting her head down capturing his lips, bringing them back to hers, winding one leg around his waist and pressing her core to him and fuck she was most definitely not wearing anything.

And he was aching, dying to touch her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, but he didn't want to rush her, he wanted her to want it as much if not more than he did.

And he wasn't sure how to achieve that.

Because he was pretty sure it was every guy's dream to meet a girl like this, and to make love to her right off the bat. But he knew that, even if a girl secretly wished for something like that to happen, if it actually did her mind would be working overtime to warn her to get out of this situation as a form of self preservation; girls didn't like being hurt.

But he wouldn't hurt her. He'd never hurt her. He just wanted to make her wildest dreams come true.

* * *

She was afraid that Jim was mad. He'd stilled when she'd flinched away from his touch, not intentionally, her mind overtaking her. After all, this was crazy. Letting him touch her like this was crazy and her mind wouldn't let her body override that.

But her body wanted to. Her body wanted to cling to him as if she'd never met a man before, as if there was only here and now and they had to make love before the world ended.

And his arms were around her, but he wasn't touching her. She pulled away again, her breasts parting from his chest, and she swallowed.

God. She wasn't entirely proud of her body but it was dark. All of the parts she wasn't proud of...well, it was dark enough that it wouldn't matter.

His arms around her slipped, and she grabbed his hands, seeing how her breasts crested the water, revealing her nipples to him.

This was hard. She swallowed, holding his hands tight in hers, and his eyes on her were blazing hot, caught by the vision she made, hair wet, face dripping, water droplets on her neck, leading to her breasts, which were now floating above the water; she was offering them to him but she was holding his hands tight in hers as if holding him back.

And was she?

She licked her lips, looking at him, and he was waiting for more permission, and she finally lowered her hands, dragging his under water with her.

He wasn't sure what she was doing. Her breasts disappeared again and she could feel his hands, large in hers, rough, callused.

She couldn't imagine him not touching her right now. She couldn't imagine how good it would feel.

She inhaled, bringing his hands to her ass, pressing his palms to her there. "Touch me," she breathed. "Make me feel good."

And that was all he needed.

His hands flexed on her ass, moaning as he did so, as his mouth found hers again and covered it, teasing her lips, tugging her bottom lip into his mouth as his fingers played with her ass, bouncing it, grasping it, pulling her flush against him.

He was wearing boxers.

Melinda ground her core against him through the fabric, and he jerked backwards, the water splashing around them, a visceral moan dragged from him. "Oh, god," he breathed, and his mouth, parted from hers, found a new target. His hands left her ass, grasping her around the waist, pulling her up and placing his mouth on her again revealed breasts.

And they were cold, covered in goosebumps, and the tips were rock hard, and Jim's mouth on them made her scream out, in shock from how good it felt.

"Jim," she breathed, panting his name, remembering the tall fireman from a few months ago, again correlating the two, and arching into him even more, remembering the connection between them then...the connection that was miraculously still between them now.

One hand came up to cup the breast his mouth wasn't on, playing with the flesh there, moulding it with his hands, weighing it, rolling the nipple between his fingers, tugging on it until she cried out again, and he pulled back.

"Do you have any idea how much harder it makes me when you moan like that?" He rasped, and she could only shake her head, eyes wide.

His mouth landed on her neck, drawing another moan from her, and she could feel him pulse against her stomach, proving his words.

"I want to make you scream," he breathed. "Loud and free." His hands were slipping down her body, finding her thighs, caressing the whisper soft skin there, sliding between her legs.

And she was hesitant again, clamping her legs together, but he was bringing his thigh up, using that to part her, until his knee was at the core of her, gently brushing against her, making her gasp again, and he came to kiss her, capturing the sound with his mouth. "Louder," he urged against her mouth. "Come on, Mel, I know you can go louder."

She whimpered. "Just keep touching me," she managed.

She felt his smile against her skin, again, gasping again as she felt it, and he chuckled. "Louder," he cautioned.

His knee stayed between her legs but slid down, letting his fingers reach down, parting her curls, and she was panting, so afraid that he would touch her there, so afraid that he wouldn't.

He had to. She wanted, needed his touch there, but oh god.

His fingers delved inside her, suddenly, without warning, and the cry wrenched from her throat made him curse in return.

"Oh, fuck, Mel," he whispered. "Keep reacting like that and I won't even be able to finish this."

"Finish it," she whimpered, finding his neck, biting the skin there, making him moan in return.

"I will," he vowed, his hands coming closer to her center.

And he hadn't even reached it yet. Which was odd. The few times Kevin had tried, really tried, to make her come, he had had to go all the way with her, finding her clit and painstakingly bringing her to the point where she finally shattered but with Jim, all he'd done was move his fingers inside her and she was ready.

She clung to him, floating in the water, bringing one leg up to wrap around his waist. "Oh, god, Jim," she breathed. "Please."

She was so wet, so aching, so ready. She bit her lip, trying to hold it together, but his fingers found her core, and just the first brush of his fingers there was almost enough to make her come, and when he moved again, stimulating it with both fingers, she couldn't keep it together anymore, arching against him, desperately holding on as an intense orgasm swept over her, making her cry out, making her scream his name.

"Jim," she cried, and his lips were on hers, and she felt herself return to normal. As normal as one could be after having experienced such a thing; as normal as one could be with his fingers still inside her.

She felt shy again, burying her face in his neck, and then she realized, with a jerk, that he was waiting. Like he had to feel like she did whenever Kevin finished without her.

Her leg was still around his waist.

She hooked her toe in the band of his boxers, and brought her other foot up, and almost before he could react she was dragging it down his hips, keeping his lips occupied until they were off.

"Do you need this particular pair of boxers?" She asked, letting their lips part for a millisecond.

"No," Jim gasped, and she let them go.

And she wanted to give back what he'd done to her, but she wasn't sure how, and she didn't know how to ask him if he wanted a blow job and she wasn't on birth control and she didn't know if she cared or not.

But she did know that he was there, tense, waiting, to see what she'd do.

So she reached a hand between them, finding him, grasping him.

He was big. She closed her eyes, her breathing shallow again, her hands moving over him in measured strokes.

God. She wanted to see him because whatever she was imagining right now...could no way in hell measure up to the real thing.

Her hands pumped him, finding his balls, stroking them, making him pulse in her hand. "Say my name," she finally whispered. "Scream it."

"Melinda," he managed, his face tight.

"That's not what you called me before," she moaned, bringing him closer making her wet again, needy, wanting him inside her because the feel of him in her hands was more than she could bear.

"Mel," he cried out, his voice loud, loud enough to make her find the end of his shaft, tease him one last time before he gave in, pulsing in her hand, letting his orgasm take him.

* * *

Her face was in his neck again, and she was clinging to him.

He curled his arms around her, their legs all tangled.

The blankets on top of them were warm, cozy.

His dazed mind tried to count how many times they'd made love by now. Friday night, Saturday morning, Saturday afternoon...night...Sunday morning...afternoon…

Night.

Sunday night.

He couldn't imagine leaving this in the past. He couldn't imagine not always having this, not always holding Melinda in his arms, tracing lazy circles on her shoulders.

They'd learned so much about each other this weekend. He'd told her things he hadn't told anyone...and somehow he knew that she had done the same, confessing things to him, telling him big things. Like how she could see ghosts.

Oh god.

He was never letting this woman go.

And it was too soon, all the magazines and locker room talk cautioned.

But he didn't care.

He kissed her awake, teasing her lips, his tongue slipping inside her mouth until her eyes were blinking at him. "Hey," she whispered.

"Hey," he murmured in return. "I just...I just have to say this. I love you."

Her eyes were sleepy, but there was clarity, and she moved even closer to him, pressing her body against his. "I know," she said.

Silence.

He kissed her shoulder, begging her to say it back, feeling like he'd die if she didn't.

"Jim?" She asked a moment later.

"Yeah?" He replied, his hand coming down to cup her ass, forcing himself to be okay if she didn't.

"I don't think I knew what love even felt like before I met you," she said. "I love you so much. Even though it's been barely any time at all. I know. I know, Jim."

And though they left the cabin behind, eventually, though the moment did end…

The feelings never did. The love they carried with them, for the rest of their lives.


	8. Tumblr Prompt #3

**Another tumblr prompt! Enjoy :D These are quickly becoming my crutch when I have writer's block and I, personally, don't mind that fact at ALL.**

**"you just came up to me on the street and asked where the weirdest place i had sex was and i'm assuming it's for one of those talk show things, but i'm really nervous because you're really really hot in that suit holy shit" au**

**also kind of the purely physical AU. I shot straight to the sex and skipped the conversation that usually happens for Jimel but...they'd get there, if I continued in this universe. They would.**

The thing was, Jim wasn't even one of those guys. Not one who had an especially wild or active sex life, or even that many girlfriends to have a sex life with. He'd had a few. Ones that he remembered with fondness; one who he even sometimes wistfully considered as the 'one that got away' but still, he could remember a choice in letting her go, in letting his need for her fade into nonexistence very easily.

He'd never fallen head over heels. And therefore, sex was just...sex was an activity. It was fun. It was hot, sometimes. But he'd never felt it to be a necessary part to any of his relationships and part of him felt like that was wrong. Because as much as sex shouldn't be the only thing keeping you together, it should bring you closer; you should, to an extent, always want to see your partner naked, you should always feel enough emotional pull that getting naked with them didn't even require a second though because you loved them.

And yet it hadn't been. It had been slow moving and easy to dismiss. He'd had partners, sure.

But no exciting stories to tell this woman who'd just approached him.

She was dressed in the best pencil skirt and jacket combos he had ever seen, mostly because on her, it actually worked; god, her waist was tiny, and her blouse was silky and white and the buttons weren't as buttoned as some blouses were...and the jacket was buttoned, but his fingers just itched to reach out and undo it.

And the skirt...was so fitted to her damn near perfect figure, with an ass to make Jim regret even being a man from how obvious his appreciation for that part of her anatomy was.

And it just slammed into him, as physical attraction had never hit him before.

"Hi, I'm from the Tony Chambers show doing an On the Street segment," she said, sticking her hand out to meet his.

Her hand was small in his, well manicured; her wrist had about five bracelets on it, all jingling, and a very male part of Jim was reacting to that as he had never reacted before to anything.

"Melinda Gordon," she finished.

"Jim Clancy," he stammered, finding it hard to let go of her hand, not ready when she was at all.

She gave him an odd look as she pulled her hand away, glancing at the cameraman behind her as if to make sure that it wasn't on; that he was still checking his phone and most definitely not recording her.

"Would you consent to answering a public opinion question and letting your segment possibly, but not necessarily, air on TV as part of the On the Street segment?"

"Sure," he managed, and she was holding out a waiver for him to sign, which he did rather blindly.

"Okay, Grant," Melinda was saying, and her cameraman set up behind her, hoisting the camera onto his shoulder.

"Do I look okay?" Melinda idly asked him, looking at herself in the reflection of the car.

"You look amazing," Jim managed, and she gave him a rather stiff smile, stepping closer to him with the microphone poised at her mouth.

Grant lowered the camera. "You should

"Hi," she greeted, a smile on her face as the camera blinked. "I'm Melinda Gordon with the On the Street segment of the Tony Chambers Show," she began. "I'm here with Jim Clancy," and with that she indicated him, the feeling giving Jim a rush of very possessive and smug feeling that he was the one here with her, on the street.

"We have a new and very interesting question this week," Melinda was saying, edging closer to him as Grant indicated.

He felt a rush of hormones.

"Jim," Melinda began. "What's the weirdest place you've ever had sex?"

And his brain just stalled. Because the hottest woman he'd ever seen was talking to him about something that he honestly probably didn't do enough and she was expectant and he suddenly really wanted to impress enough that he made it onto the program.

"I mean, it was no big deal," he began, his mouth working a lot faster than his brain at this point. "But my girlfriend and I once—" He couldn't think, so he looked down, scuffed his toe, racked his brain to think up something but also knew, in a sneaky corner of his brain, that he was just coming off as discreet right now and that that was never a bad thing. "Were on a train. And the car was empty and it was late at night…" He trailed off, licking his lips. "And there's this bar," he added, knowing that he wasn't exaggerating things now. "That I just end up taking every girl to and it's not...it's not like a creepy rite of initiation thing. It's just...if I like her, I feel like we would end up having sex there." He crinkled his brow. "And it's never happened. Hasn't yet."

And the mood just changed and Jim wanted to slap himself because now he wasn't the hot mysterious guy who had crazy sex, he was the lame guy who'd never met a girl like that.

A wave of heat swept from the city's southside and Jim just felt Melinda looking up at him, before turning to Grant. "Shut it off," she sighed. "We're done here."

And Jim, inwardly sighing, turned away, hands in his pockets, half a block away before he heard his name being called. "Jim! Jim?"

He whirled around and she was there, tripping towards him. "You left," she accused.

"Was there another waiver I had to sign?" He asked, not sure what she wanted from him.

She gazed up at him, eyes brown and wide.

And he looked down and yes, she was wearing flats, and yes, some part of him found the fact that her head only just reached his chest incredibly hot.

But still.

"No," she said hesitantly. "No, it's just…"

And then he realized that he may have misjudged her because she was just faltering, beginning to back away.

"You were my last interview," Melinda said. "Or as many as my boss requires and…" She licked her lips nervously. "I don't know. I wanted to know if you wanted a drink."

His eyes widened.

"I know a place," she said and he grinned.

"I mean, sure," he said. "I would never...say no to that."

"I mean, I'm the type of person to kind of bounce around bars until I find the exact right one," Melinda said, unbuttoning her jacket and slipping out of it, full breasts straining against her shirt. "Not even really drinking at the first few, just seeing if I like the vibe."

"Yeah," Jim said, feeling his dimple show. "Me too."

They were nearing a crosswalk and the gentlemanly part of him, combined with the not gentlemanly part of him, made him reach out to grab her arm, get them safely across the street but somehow she moved into the embrace and his arm was around her waist.

"I don't know where it is," Melinda began as they continued to walk, bodies touching. "But this guy recommended it."

His heart was starting to beat so fucking fast, he almost couldn't believe it.

"Oh yeah?" He said.

"See, I do this On the Street segment," she continued. "And sometimes...okay, one time...there was this guy that I really, really wanted to talk to but I felt so damn shy so even though my cameraman and I were done for the day, I made him do one more question." She looked up at him, and he could feel his heart beat at a triple speed.

"And it wasn't the same question as I asked anyone else," she said, voice lowering. "Wondering what the craziest place he'd ever had sex in was. And his answer...made me want...to be the first."

His hand was tight on her waist, splaying over rib cage, his thumb touching the underside of her full breast, and his pinky grazing the beginning of the hip.

Sometimes he loved having big hands.

"I might know the bar you're talking about," he breathed. "It's right down here."

* * *

She was crazy. That was all there was to it. She was walking off with a stranger, probably going to end up dead in an alley, but oh my god, just the way she felt when she looked at him. Grant probably thought she was crazy. Then again, Grant was gay. He probably understood exactly how she felt.

Because this Jim Clancy...was damn fine. And Melinda...needed someone like him in her life. Even if just for a night. Because after ten days straight of being chewed out by her boss, by being contacted by her ex for a booty call...she was done with life.

And there was just this part of that needed this human contact from a...very handsome stranger. After all, she could seriously pretend it hadn't even happened. That was okay. They'd both just forget about it, but for one night they could have perfection. Because, honestly, a man that made her feel like this just from them looking at each other…

It had never happened before.

And here they were, walking into a bar and it was Melinda's quintessential bar, with not much of a concentration on drinking, but on socialization, and cute decor and oh god, Jim was slipping into a booth and glancing up at her.

"I've never done this before," she breathed.

"Done what?" He asked, but she was winding her hand into his, making him stand back up.

"Where exactly would you take a girl?" She asked, and his eyes darkened.

"I, uh…" He was licking his lips and Melinda grabbed his collar, pulling him down to her level. And that in and of itself was an accomplishment.

"Let me be the first," she said, her lips close to his.

His hands closed on her waist and lifted her straight up, and their faces were just so close together. And the way he was just lifting her and holding her in the air like this, her feet dangling because her skirt was too damn tight to move her legs to wrap around his waist…

"You sure?" He asked, and his face was so close, and his skin was so damn hot; he had a scraping of stubble on his cheeks and she just wanted to suck his bottom lip; goddamn, it was plump. "Are you on anything? I don't...I'm not the kind of guy…"

"No," she whispered, wrapping arms around his neck. "Not on anything. But I'm definitely sure. And...there are other things to do."

And then his lips landed on hers, plump, hungry, pulling her in, and they just kissed for so long, satisfied with exploring each other, tasting, figuring out.

And then his tongue swept her lower lip and she opened up to him, hers going to meet his and almost dying when they collided, because her heart was beating so fast and between her thighs was an insistent pounding.

Hell. Freaking. Yes.

This was what she'd missed. And she didn't know if it was because Jim was a stranger or if they just had off the charts chemistry and would even if they'd known each other for years, but holy hell, this was impossibly amazing.

And he was walking, and suddenly they were in a dark corner, hidden from view, and he was slowly letting her feet lower to touch the ground, bending over her.

His hands were creeping up, hesitant, and she sucked his lower lip into her mouth, until he moaned, until his hands were almost ripping her blouse open, something she'd always wanted to make a guy do but never had a lover enthusiastic enough.

But Jim. Nothing could have pulled them apart.

Her bra opened up in the front and she could feel his hands going around to the back, palming there, and then his other hand figured it out so fast her mind was completely blown because it had taken other men about three times as long; she usually ended up doing it herself, but here he was already to gold, his hand just holding her and cupping her breast, and making her feel like she was the most desirable woman in the world because the sounds he was making, how tender his hands were, how soft his lips, how damn appreciative.

And his lips were pulling away, going to her ear. "Should I ask how to make you come the fastest or should I figure it out?" He whispered, tugging her lobe in between his lips, biting, making her throb.

"Um, this is taking me there at an alarming rate," she gasped, her legs almost buckling, and he just chuckled, low and dark.

"Your skirt is so tight," he whispered. "What can we do about that?"

'I don't even know," she whimpered, because his hands were were everywhere and she couldn't breathe.

He'd unzipped her skirt, was slowly shoving it up, his legs shielding her from view, and his fingers were slipping inside her, and no guy had ever done that so soon before, and he was just taking her there, finding her clit and strumming her to life, until she was clinging to him, almost unable to stand up anymore, shattering into him; the only thing that kept her quiet was his mouth on hers, swallowing her cries.

She fell limp against him; he was tugging her skirt back into place. "That was amazing," he breathed.

She licked her lips, just staring up at him. "You haven't even come yet," she said.

"But you did," he said, slowly licking one finger, making her eyes widen with implications with other, more direct ways… "And it was…"

"Mmm," she panted, dropping to her knees before him and his hands were knotting in her hair.

"Mel," he began, but she was unzipping his jeans, slipping him free from his boxers, eyes widening because...wow. This was luck and she...maybe this wasn't smart. There was no way it was smart.

But she couldn't think of anything that could make her stop.

She grasped him in two hands, just marveling and Jim was gasping, trying to keep in control, trying to keep them quiet, discreet, but she was moving her hands, pumping him, examining every inch, trying to keep back her awe…

And she wanted him. So damn bad. And she wanted him for keeps but this was all that she could do right now.

She took him into her mouth, and he rocked towards her, hands even tighter in her hair, clinging to her. "Oh my god, Mel," he panted. "Oh my god."

He was getting too loud. She couldn't bring herself to care, taking him farther and farther, until at last he shattered into her mouth, and she slowly let him slip from her mouth, tenderly tucking him back into his pants.

"Well," she said, slowly buttoning her blouse.

Jim was just looking at her, dazed.

"That was amazing," she said, slipping her jacket back on.

"Now what?" Jim asked, managing to clear his throat.

She shrugged, suddenly shy now that they weren't in the moment. Because this wasn't supposed to be long lasting. It was supposed to be a one night stand but she couldn't imagine not repeating this, at least as long as it lasted.

She licked her lips, and Jim just lunged towards her, hands on her face, bringing her lips to meet his, and it was just as amazing, if not more, than it had been before.

And there was no way that they wouldn't see this through to the end.


	9. Tumblr Prompt #4

**"you're super short and i'm** **sorry but it's really really cute whenever you try to reach that book on the top shelf here lemme help you- oh no don't be embarrassed, your face is all red and you're even more adorable now** i **am going to die" au**

 **Aka the (oddly) not sexual au** **, lol.**

All Jim knew was that he'd been standing there for a good five minutes, just watching this little freshman try to get a book down from the top shelf. At least he assumed she was a freshman. He hadn't seen her around in the four years he'd been at this college.

And she was the type of girl he would have noticed.

He scraped his hair back from his face, feeling a small smile just from watching her. There were librarians just a few steps away around the corner but she was too stubborn, desperately trying to get a very large book from the top shelf; he began to be afraid that if she actually managed to tug it out, it would fall on her face.

So it was then that he stood up, paused again, because she'd taken to hopping, and then just shook his head, walking straight over and taking the book she needed off of the shelf.

Paranormal Studies.

Ah. That kind of student.

He looked down at her, seeing the bright red sheen on her face, and simply handed it to her. "Just ask next time," he said amiably. "Anyone here would have helped."

She just stared at him for another long moment, and then clutched the book to a very generous chest. "Um, okay," she said. 

He felt like she was going to say something else; he really wanted to know what it was and, damn it, were short girls his kryptonite and he'd only just realized it? His study group was staring at him, though, waiting for him to come back over so he just smiled and walked back to his table.

And she was just standing there a moment longer, hair in a long braid over her shoulder, suddenly looking terribly forlorn and Jim suddenly had a strange thought that maybe anyone wouldn't have helped.

"Why did you help her, dude?" Harry hissed. "That's the crazy freshman."

"Dude, she's, like, a witch," Liam chuckled.

"I mean, I wouldn't talk to her and I talk to everyone," Stephanie snorted, blonde ponytail effortlessly bouncing, pencil poised by her lips.

Jim again had the uncomfortable feeling that Stephanie was only in this study group to find a father for her potential children.

But considering how Harry and Liam were looking at her...considering how she was still looking at him…

Jim shook it off. "So. We need to nail this project or he's going to flunk us."

The group slowly agreed, shifting back to their seats, and Jim peeked over at the girl again.

She was leaving, book clutched to her chest, face downcast.

Jim didn't like turning back to his group for the undeniable pull he felt to go after her. If love at first sight existed...he was gone. So damn gone.

* * *

The second time it happened he was cramming for midterms, going through the bookshelves and literally just pulling books off, when he almost ran over her.

She was pressing herself against the bookcase, the way people do in action movies when they run around a corner and are trying to not be seen by the person chasing them, and she squeaked when Jim ran into her, and he immediately stopped, looking down to see her there.

"I am so sorry," he immediately apologized and she was, again, red faced.

"I was in the way," she began, and his hand shot out to grab her wrist before she tried to leave but she wasn't trying to leave. She was standing there, still hiding.

He lowered his voice, leaning his head so that he could speak nearer to her ear. "Are you...hiding from someone?"

She raised her face, and Jim felt a rush of heat from how close her lips were, immediately backing up when her eyes widened in shock.

"Yes," she finally said, lowering her face, playing with the fringe of her denim mini skirt.

"Who?" He wondered, pressing closer to her, as if to shield her from view.

"A girl," she admitted. "I don't know why but she really doesn't like me. Blonde...tall...perfect."

There was clear bitterness in her voice, something Jim couldn't blame her for at all. He had most definitely had that feeling with certain guys.

Not good enough. Never good enough.

"Do you want me to check if the coast is clear for you?" Jim asked.

She nodded, after a moment where she was obviously torn.

Jim walked past her and looked out at an empty library. "It's all good," he said, and she slowly started forward, getting ready to leave, turning around to face him, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth as she tried to find words.

"Thanks," she finally settled on.

"Hey," Jim began. "Why do you have such an insane reputation? Is any of it true?"

Somehow his group of friends kept bringing up how crazy she was supposed to be, with increased intensity as the semester went on. That she was an actual practicing witch and people actually got harmed by what she did...or didn't do.

The light in her eyes seemed to deaden, and she ran from the library before he could stop her; he shoved his hands into his pockets and couldn't blame her at all.

* * *

It was Halloween the next time he saw her and they were probably the only two people who weren't at the keggers raging that night. But Jim was on a fast track to medical student, couldn't afford to lose his scholarship, couldn't afford to get arrested, and honestly didn't like himself when drunk, and he ended up in the library, reading a medical textbook and zoning out.

Because he liked Halloween. He really did.

It was a fun holiday and, when younger, it was harmless.

And now...he just didn't want to pass out from all of the drinking and he didn't want to get hit on by Stephanie all evening.

She was seriously going out of control flirting with him. He had no idea how to tell her that he wasn't interested.

And then there was a fairy in the library, dressed in blue tulle; big glittery wings.

And she was crying.

It was then that Jim realized that it was her and she was crumpling, as if unable to hold herself in anymore, hold in the pain; she was literally falling to her knees, sobbing as though her heart was broken.

And that was one thing that Jim could never ignore.

He'd been trained to watch out for someone in pain...any kind of pain and he left the table with a bang; he saw her head jerk up and she was staring at him as he ran to her side.

"Hey," he said, hands going to her arms, holding her there tight. "Are you okay?"

"No," she sobbed. "I mean, I'm fine, you don't have to—"

"Don't even say that," Jim said, thumbs pressing into her skin, massaging in little circles. "What's wrong?"

Her make up was running and tears were literally streaming down her face. "They told me to come to the party," she finally stammered. "And I was stupid enough to think they meant it."

"Did you go?" He asked, managing to unhook the damn wings, pulling them from her. God, she reminded him so much of this little girl on his block a few years ago; six years old, bullied to an extreme, but still so willing and eager to see the best in people, always believing that people meant it; her heart had been broken so damn many times.

They got the wings off and Jim was just crouching beside her, finally giving into his instincts and pulling her into his arms.

And she was soft and she quickly made his shirt damp but he held onto her, smoothing her meticulously styled hair over her head, whispering words of comfort.

"It's okay," he breathed, and found himself pressing a kiss to her hair. "I swear it is. And I'm sorry.

No matter what happened, and you don't have to tell me anything, just know that I'm sorry."

Her tears didn't still, and her body kept shaking, but her arms had moved around him, clinging hard.

Because sometimes people just needed skin to skin contact. He knew that. All medical textbooks agreed on that.

So he held her tight, and let her cry.

* * *

The second time it happened, Melinda was in the library, again trying to get a book from the top shelf down, about to grab a chair and pull it over when he was there, grinning down at her. "You could totally just hire me to do this," he said. "You wouldn't even have to pay me. Just call me when you go to the library and I'm so willing to just follow you around and get the books from the top shelf for you."

He was so damn handsome. Like the boy in the movies. The one who was always too good to be true. Who always ended up breaking the heroine's heart, regardless of whether they ended up together or not.

And there was no way he wasn't too good to be true because she'd seen the girl with him. The one who made Melinda's life a living hell even though she didn't even know her name.

But somehow, some way, it was an all out war against Melinda; she'd gotten all of her sorority sisters in on it. And sororities were surprisingly big on campus; a fact that would have caused Melinda to change her mind about going to school there if she'd known it.

But she liked the programs. And she really needed to figure out more about her damn 'gift', if you could call it a gift anymore, if she was going to survive life without going nuts or becoming an alcoholic.

And she couldn't do either of those things. She most certainly knew that neither of those were going to be an option.

He was just looking down at her, leaning on the shelf, triceps impossibly flexed right now, showed to perfection in a fitted t shirt.

And guys like him just didn't talk to girls like her.

It didn't happen. And just because he'd held her while she'd cried didn't mean that anything changed, that he was actually different.

She bit her lip, staring up at him, before finally clearing her throat. "I don't think that's a good idea," she said.

And he leaned closer. "So you do talk," he said, a teasing note in his voice.

And she felt so irrationally angered by that, since she had talked to him last time, choked out a reason for her tears.

"Let me help," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder; and it was so big, so damn heavy where it rested…

She licked her lips. "Sure," she managed, pointing out the book she needed. "I don't know why, but all of the books I need end up on the top shelf."

"Which sucks for you," he replied. "But is kind of good for me. Because now I get a reason to talk to you."

His eyes crinkled as he smiled down at her, gentle. "Are you feeling okay? After Halloween?"

"I'm fine," she said immediately.

He ducked his head, slowly smiling. "Bad question, worse answer," he said, voice like honey; soothing. "Better question: Would you like a hug?"

"Are you going to use it as a reason to grab my ass?" Melinda wondered, and felt her face flush, because what guy would want to touch her ass?

"Tempting," Jim said, eyes raking over her, making her flush even more. "But I wouldn't. I'm just a med student and studying the effects of human touch on, well, everyone. How it prevents disease, and depression, and so many things."

His eyes softened. "And sometimes, you just really need it, and sometimes you're really far away from home and don't have a person to hug."

She felt like crying because he was just hitting every damn nail on the head. "And sometimes at home there's no one to hug anyway," she managed, and found herself stumbling into his arms.

And this relationship basically didn't make sense. She still didn't know what his name was.

But he gave really nice hugs. And that seemed to be all he was interested in. And, so far, that was a good thing.

Though…

She inhaled, smelling pine, and boy and feeling his musky heat, his arms tight around her, burying her face in his chest.

Someday that wouldn't be enough for her. Someday she'd want him to want more.

And that scared her.

But for right now...she wanted his hugs. And his long arms. And the way that he smiled at her.

And she didn't want to sacrifice it for anything. Even for that blonde bitch never bothering her again.

As she stood there, feeling her world begin and end with this boy's arms around her, she felt like she could conquer the world...as long as he was at her side.

"Melinda," she whispered, leaning up to whisper in his ear. "My name is Melinda."

He started to pull away but she found herself holding on. "Jim," he said, voice just a rumble now, a vibration in his chest.

"Can I have your number?" She managed, because asking for numbers was something she didn't do. "In case it's late at night and I need a hug."

And he was already reciting the numbers, making her let out a choked laugh from how quick he was, how ready.

"You should charge for this, you could make a lot of money," she said after another few moments of just being held by him.

"No point," Jim said. "It's not a real hug then."

"True," she breathed, and just held on.

Neither of them wanted to let go. She felt one hand burrow into the material of his shirt, holding tight. 

Yeah. She wasn't letting go of him anytime soon. 


	10. Tumblr Prompt #5

**"you caught some guy trying to drug my drink at the bar so u punched him and now we're at my place where i'm cleaning the blood off your face and endlessly thanking you" au**

**Aka the Jimel didn't like each other at first AU.**

He hated her. And right now, the only thing possible for him to be thinking was that he was cramping her style.

Melinda moved onto the bar stool, pretending that she didn't see Jim at the other end; pretending that he wasn't just staring at her to will her to get the hell out of there.

She didn't know why he had such a problem with her, but it was the way it had always been; they were both living in the same gated community outside the city, one with balconys and cats.

And for some reason, he didn't like her. They'd been some of the only people to go to a welcoming night bash, and he'd just spent the whole thing either glued to his phone or looking at her strangely, something that Melinda wasn't sure what to make of after a point.

And then he was right above her; one day his mail was delivered to her by accident and she'd taken it up to him; he'd seen the envelopes in her hand and just freaked out, snatching the envelopes from her hand and ignoring her as he rifled through them, letting her awkwardly stand there for another minute before realizing that she'd been dismissed.

Because she hadn't wanted to go. He hadn't been wearing a shirt and a very silly part of her had wanted him to look up and at least thank her for bringing it down the same day, and not putting it off for weeks on end. A part of her had wanted acknowledgement.

Something that Jim just seemed unwilling or unable to give.

Melinda cleared her throat, turning to the bartender. "Martini," she said smoothly, and the man just nodded, preparing her a drink and sliding it over to her.

And suddenly she really didn't feel like drinking, feeling lonely, looking down at her phone.

Behind her, there was suddenly a human presence and then a guy was sliding onto the bar stool next to her; had Melinda looked up she would have seen an almost empty bar and plenty of empty seats for him to have chosen, but she was texting Andrea, hoping that her friend would have some sort of tidbit to make Melinda smile.

**Did anything happen today to you?**

Andrea's response came back rather quickly, and a smile did appear on Melinda's face to see it, but more from that she was getting a response than for what it said. **Stuck at work. God, I hate my boss right now.**

 **Be careful,** Melinda responded. **For all you know, you're texting her right now.**

**Oh god, wrong person. But seriously, I don't mind staying late to inventory. Chris cancelled anyway; I only have Cherry Garcia to go home to.**

**Thank you,** Melinda typed out, getting a smiley in return.

Andrea was the best decision Melinda had ever made, from the moment the tall brunette had walked into the shop, almost had, as she put it, _a heart attack from the overdose of cute and perfection present in here, and I'm not just talking about what money can buy, I'm talking about the owner. Damn, I wish I was short and cute sometimes._

But Andrea had her own attributes, and there other times that Melinda wished for Andrea's legs...mainly right now, with her legs swinging from the bar stool.

She glanced up and took a sip of her drink, finally noticing the guy next to her. He was blond; stubble covered his cheeks, and he flashed her a smile; she didn't miss the way his gaze shot to her bare legs.

"Hey," he greeted. "Damien."

"Hey," she responded, before subtly angling herself away from him and turning back to her drink; for any guy who was on his toes, this would signal polite rejection, since Melinda didn't have the energy to outright reject him now or to make small talk.

She placed her drink on the counter again.

"Nice night," Damien said.

"Mm," she said, rifling in her purse.

"You look lonely," Damien commented.

"I'm fine," she said, taking out a bill to give to the bartender; he was way on the other side, however, and she was honestly apprehensive of leaving it out; Damien didn't seem above taking it.

"Refill?" The bartender asked as he came back around, taking the bill and she hesitated just a moment.

In all honesty, she did want another drink, and hadn't intended to stop. "Yeah," she said. "No, not a refill. Moonshine."

The bartender grinned. "That's what I'm talkin' about," he chuckled. "Good choice."

"It is a unique choice," Damien commented as the bartender handed her the shot glass.

"Mm," Melinda said, pressing her lips together; she felt her shoe slide off of her foot and she knew there was a reason that she didn't like these shoes and hadn't worn them for six months, but she'd seen them in her closet tonight and they were cute and she'd put them on.

Regretting it now, she placed the drink on the counter and carefully maneuvered herself off of the seat, something suddenly hard to do without brushing against Damien, grabbing the shoe and again cursing her lack of height; Andrea would have been able to use her toes to pick them up.

She took the drink, feeling like a little kid, about to just down it and then just leave but just as it was about to touch her lips, it was knocked from her hand onto the floor, shattering into pieces.

"What the hell?" Melinda managed, only seeing a very male hand in front of her, looking up to see, of all the freaking people, Jim.

"I'd apologize but I'm not, in fact, sorry," Jim said, voice so cold it chilled her.

What, did he think she was an alcoholic now too?

About to open her mouth to defend herself, she shocked even more when he placed an arm around her shoulders and gently steered her away from Damien before letting go. "What. The hell," Jim said. "I saw you put something in her drink."

"Man, you're insane," Damien stammered, but already the bartender was looking at Damien askance instead of Jim.

Melinda felt her eyes widen, looked down at the glass littering the floor in front of her, feeling a definite shiver go up her spine at how she could have ended up.

"Empty your pockets," the bartender told Damien. "Prove you don't have anything."

"I don't have to do shit," Damien muttered.

"You spiked her drink," Jim said. "And we just need to know what exact drug is going to be taking you to jail."

It happened so fast, Melinda didn't have time to move out of the way. Damien's fist struck Jim square in the face, and he stumbled backwards, into her, and she only barely managed to push him off, keep him standing because he'd almost knocked her down; she admired his balance.

Jim struck Damien in return, shaking his hand out.

"You're crazy," Damien shouted. "See, he hit me!"

"It was self defense, not to mention that you knocked him right into the girl you tried to drug," the bartender said. "I'm calling the cops, man."

"Like fuck you are," Damien began, trying to shove past Jim; Melinda could see that Jim's face was bleeding.

"Don't move," Jim said, and this time when Damien tried to hit him, Jim was prepared, and Damien was out cold on the floor. "I'm sorry, I didn't know what else to do," he apologized to the bartender.

"Don't worry about it, our bouncer couldn't make it in tonight; his sister was having a baby and I thought I'd be able to keep house alone," the bartender said, looking just a bit shaken. "I'm glad you were here, dude." He looked past Jim at Melinda. "And I bet she is too."

It was like Jim only remembered then that that was why he'd punched Damien in the first place, whirling to face Melinda. "Are you okay?" He asked, voice low and intense, surprising her by how passionate he was; placing his hand on her chin and tilting her face up, as if checking her coloring.

"I'm fine," she gasped, his hands falling to her shoulders; squeezing there as if by touching her he could assure himself of her wellbeing.

Damien must have been wearing a ring; there was a nasty scratch on Jim's cheek.

She found herself lifting a hand to it, stemming the blood flow, and Jim's hand, surprised, reached up to cover Melinda's, pulling it away, raising an eyebrow when he saw blood. "I didn't even feel it," he said softly. "My hand...that I feel."

"Come back to my place," Melinda found herself saying. "I'll clean you up. We live right next door anyway, there's no reason not to."

She fished around in her purse and found a clean tissue, folding it before handing it to him.

"I've got a first aid kit," Jim said. "We could go back to mine."

We.

The bartender was looking at them curiously, and Jim turned back to him, pressing Melinda's makeshift bandage to his cheek. "Do you want my information for the police?"

"Yeah, but I'm going to try to keep you out of it, you don't need that crap," the bartender replied, and Jim gave him his card—what did he do that he had a card?—and turned back to Melinda; she could see an odd touch of impatience in him, and he gestured for her to go ahead.

* * *

It had worked out. Jim hadn't driven so they drove together; Melinda punched in the code and the gates opened, leaving her to go to her assigned parking space and get out, waiting for Jim.

"I'm on the first floor," Melinda explained, going to her apartment and unlocking the door. "Might as well skip the stairs."

"Yeah," Jim said, getting inside and stopping stock still. "Wow."

She laughed at the surprise, a bit puzzled. "Wow what?" She wondered, flipping lights on and going into the kitchen area to grab her first aid kit.

"Our apartments have the exact same floor plan but it looks totally different when you actually decorate," Jim chuckled, slowly following her; she gestured for him to sit at the breakfast bar and he did. "It's like a fairy land or something."

"I just come across a lot of antiques and sometimes just can't resist bringing one home," Melinda said, looking at her (to her eyes) spare living room and seeing it with new eyes; maybe it was impressive to another's eyes. All she could see were the empty spaces that she wanted to put antique tables in that she couldn't yet afford. "Sit down," she urged, and he finally did, moving from the breakfast bar to grab a chair.

"I want you to be able to reach my face," he joked, and she smiled.

"Fair enough, my feet don't even reach the floor on those bar stools," she said, licking her lips when he straddled a chair backwards, leaning on the back of it while she slipped her heels off and walked over to him, dabbing a cotton pad into rubbing alcohol, pressing it to his face. He let out a mild hiss of pain.

"I never get over that," he commented.

"Never? Have you been in a lot of fights then?" She asked lightly and a smile twitched at his lips.

"That is what me saying that implies," he agreed, shaking his head, flinching again when she pressed it harder.

"Come on," she scolded. "You didn't even think twice to hit him and my hands have got to be a lot softer than that was."

His eyes darkened, suddenly leaning into the touch. "They're definitely soft," he said, his voice deepening, becoming rougher, making butterflies in her stomach rise up, making her heart jump into her throat. "It's just...most people would also offer something else."

"What else?" Melinda asked, grabbing a bandage and placing it on his cheek, pressing carefully to smooth it.

He grabbed her hand, holding it there. "To kiss it better," he said, pressing a kiss to the center of her palm.

The air became weighted, heavy, and Melinda could only stare at him.

His cheeks became flushed and he looked away. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't think before I said that."

Silence. "What do you do?" Melinda asked, turning away with a flush, pulling her hand from his and shivering from the loss of contact. "You have such crazy hours."

"I'm both a paramedic and in med school," Jim said, slowly getting off of the chair. "It's an insane schedule and it's a wonder that I haven't flunked a course yet but somehow I've been able to make it work."

"That's no room for dating, huh?" Melinda wondered, putting her first aid kit back together. She wondered how the words sounded, trying to not flush. Why had she asked?

"I'd make room, for the right girl," Jim said, and suddenly he was standing right behind her and she could just feel his body warmth, sense how much taller he was than her. "I should be going," he said, turning away, looking around for his keys.

Melinda saw them, and instead of pointing them out, she found herself walking forward. "You're just next door," she said. "Stay a few more minutes, unless you have an early morning."

He turned around again, finding her right there.

She frowned, looking up at him, reaching a hand to his bandage.

"What?" He wondered.

"Sorry," she said. "Bend down, I forgot something."

Confused, he bent his head, and Melinda placed her hand on the back of his neck. "I think I just realized that I never said thank you," she whispered. "So thank you for saving my life tonight."

She rose up on her toes, pressing a slow, open mouthed kiss to his cheek. "There," she breathed. "I kissed it better." She lingered, with her lips near his ear, lowering her voice. "Does it feel...better?"

"Yeah," Jim managed. "A lot better."

Their faces were so damn close, but she ended up dropping her arms to her side.

"Good night," she breathed, picking up his keys. "You'll probably need these to drive to work in the morning."

And he took them, and he was walking to the door.

"But seriously," she said, her voice almost cracking, talking just a bit louder. "Thank you."

"Anyone would have," he said. "And you're welcome."

He was poised by her door, again looking around her apartment. "This is such a trip," he said, shaking his head.

"Not anyone would have," she insisted. "Most people wouldn't even have noticed."

Jim ducked his head. "At the risk of sounding like a stalker, I tend to keep an eye on you," he said softly. "You're the antique shop owner. You have a really awesome, but really loud late at night, friend. You have the exact same apartment as me but it looks amazing and almost magical especially in comparison to mine."

"Okay, it cannot possibly look that good," Melinda said in exasperation.

"Come and see," Jim exclaimed. "I don't...I've tried so many times to just get up the courage and knock on your fucking door."

She looked at him in amazement. "But I brought you your mail once," she exclaimed. "And you just freaked out!"

"That was my medical school acceptance letter," he said. "And I'd been working my ass off to get in and I was a little crazy." He looked down at her, licking his lips. And she just had this feeling that they were both aware that he was still here, that this conversation was getting oddly long and neither of them wanted to leave or end it.

She wasn't wearing shoes, but she grabbed her keys. "Let's go see your space then," she said decisively, throwing caution to the wind.

* * *

Jim felt buzzed. He'd barely touched his drink all evening; he'd gone there to meet a friend and he'd ended up bailing at the last second; Jim had planned on leaving but then Melinda had come in.

And god, Jim had a sweet spot for Melinda. His gorgeous and mysterious neighbor who lived above him. The woman who walked barefoot to her car in the mornings and catsit for Mrs. Peters. The woman he always tried to watch leave for work because he just couldn't help it. He usually got off before she left, or hadn't gone yet...and she just wore such a damn gorgeous array of outfits. One day fitted trousers with peasant blouses; the next time it was damn near a cocktail dress, back tantalizingly bare, and he knew that she owned the antique shop in town and he had so many times been about to just walk in during his shift and just look around, see if being in uniform loosened his tongue around her.

Oh god. His tongue.

Bad thought.

He remembered her lips on his cheek, her hot mouth, and how he just wanted to feel that again, preferably on other areas of his body.

But she was human. That wasn't all she was. And if this didn't end the way his erection was currently hoping it would, he would be fucking disappointed but he'd know that it could continue in other ways. It probably would continue in other ways. Because now he knew that he could talk to her. That talking to her was pretty damn easy.

And that getting her to kiss his cheek…

He swallowed, unlocking his apartment door. Melinda stepped in behind him, and he let her pass him, unable to stop himself from letting his gaze sweeping down her body; the tight dress and how it just clung to every damn curve.

He swept his gaze back up, steeling himself.

"Wow," Melinda said, staring around her at the almost empty room; there was a bookshelf, a coffee table and a couch. Nothing else. "This sucks."

"Yes, it does," he said, laughing in spite of himself. "It seriously does. I just didn't have the money and I still don't have the money but I'm seriously beginning to need a proper chair and I just don't have the time to go shopping."

"Let me know what kind of chair you'd like," Melinda said, turning to face him, hair flipping over her shoulder and the sight of her was almost too beautiful, too good to take in. The sight of her in his apartment…

God. He couldn't breathe.

"Something that gives me proper back support," he finally managed to say, closing the door behind him.

Her eyes shot to it; he regretted the move, he didn't want to pressure her into anything and suddenly she was moving forward.

"Does it still hurt?" She wondered.

And he shrugged, because now it didn't. "Not really," he said.

"Damn," she commented, startling him. "Because I wanted to give you another dose."

He wasn't sure who moved first, or if they both moved at the same time, but they were in each other's arms and she was warm and soft and so much shorter than him, and his hands were on her waist, lifting her up, and then she was diving toward him, grabbing his lips in her own.

And it was too fast. He fucking knew that. He knew that diving into bed with someone first thing couldn't possibly be the way to go but he didn't care, couldn't care, when her arms were lithe and tight around his neck, when her legs were fighting against her tight skirt to wrap around his waist, when she finally just shoved it up, bunching it around her waist, throwing her legs around him, clinging on tight.

And then he couldn't breathe for wondering what color her panties would be and how her ass might feel under his fingers, and his arms on her waist were tight, tighter, because he didn't know how they wouldn't wander otherwise.

"Touch me," Melinda whispered, pulling away to rasp the words in his ear, licking his lobe while she was at it, making him buck against her.

He held on tighter, hands daring to grab hold of her thighs, firm and tight, the crest of her ass rising above them...she was wearing lacy panties. He could feel it, he could tell it. And her skin was so damn smooth.

One hand fumbled up for the zipper on her dress and she exhaled as he pulled it down, clinging a little harder.

"I won't drop you," he vowed.

"Take me to bed," she breathed.

"It's too fucking far," he said, and they ended up on the couch, Melinda straddling his lap, tossing her hair back and just looking at him, eyes piercing his, brown eyes deep and gorgeous, flecked with gold and oh god, he was so far gone.

He reached for her dress's hem, slowly pulling it up over her head, biting back a moan as he got to see everything, from hot pink lace panties to a plain beige strapless bra.

God. He wasn't sure how he'd lived without that sight.

She was breathing hard, chest inflating and deflating, breasts heaving, staring at him.

"I'm not in shape," she suddenly began. "I haven't been working out that regularly lately, I've been too busy and I know—"

He placed his hands tight on her thighs. "Melinda," he said, voice almost stern. "You are…" He breathed out, licking his lips. "You are fucking perfect." His thumbs skated on the insides of her thighs, on the delicate and soft skin there. "Completely beautiful in my eyes, but you know what? In what should be everyone's eyes." He leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers. "Hopefully your own too."

She whimpered as he tugged her tongue into his mouth, as they danced around each other, and then his hands came up to palm her breasts, and slowly reach around to unclip her bra. "Okay?" He asked, pausing.

"Yeah," she breathed. She was so tense, so goddamn tense.

He slowly unclipped it, letting the cups cling to her breasts for another long moment before pulling it away from her body; she whimpered as it brushed her hardened nipples and finally he cast it to the ground, unable to keep from staring.

"Perfect," he finally ground out, and he could see the flush on her cheeks, which was slowly coming to cover her breasts too, and that was fucking perfect.

He arched his neck up, captured one tip in his mouth, and she moaned, as his other hand massaged her other breast, finding every spot, exploring, tugging, cupping. He never, ever wanted this moment to end.

But it did, segueing into another moment, into switching breasts, into tugging on the other nipple, into his other hand coming to cup the one his mouth had just been on, feeling it slick from his mouth.

She was whimpering, arching towards him, her hair falling like a curtain over their faces.

They continued on, moving one article of clothing at a time, pausing at each, making sure to check and see that both were still okay with every article being taken off.

And each time, both of them couldn't imagine being more okay with it, until the point where she was putting something onto him and he was finally pushing into her, filling her, finding the angle that he knew women needed, finding the angle that Melinda needed and she guided him to it, and brought them both to completion, until she was sagging against him on the couch, clutching at him, mouth on his pecs, sucking at the skin there.

"We live right above and below each other," she panted, whipping her hair back. "God, Jim. Why haven't we done this before?"

"I don't know," he managed, holding her a bit tighter for a moment; still deep inside her.

"This was amazing," she managed. "So much more amazing than what Damien had planned. If that was even his real name."

"Agreed," Jim said. "So agreed."


	11. Tumblr Prompt #6

**"it's the middle of the night and i'm walking home alone in the dark and there's this guy following me and he's starting to gain on me and i found this phone booth with a lock on the door and i tried to call my best friend but my hands were shaking so badly i accidentally dialed the wrong number and i don't even know you but help me"**

Melinda hurried from the antique shop, locking the door behind her with a shiver. It was cold out tonight; the moon shed little light and the streetlights flickered above her head.

This wasn't an area of town that anyone should be in alone after dark. And she usually wasn't, but she'd realized, halfway home, that she'd left the reports she needed in the back room of Mr. Jamison's shop.

She shoved her hands into her pockets, her purse tucked tight against her body, her coat sheltering her from some of the cold.

But not all of it.

"Hello, little lady," came a voice as she turned the corner, and she almost jumped out of her skin .

There was a man standing there, hiding in the shadows.

Melinda shook her head at him, and kept walking, feeling her breath quickening. Keep walking. Don't stop. Your car is only two blocks away.

Just two city blocks.

Come on, Melinda, you can make it two blocks.

She could hear his footsteps behind her. "There's no need to hurry," he cooed, his voice eerie and mellow. "I can show you a sweet time."

She kept walking, even faster.

"I've been watching you."

She stopped, stock still.

"Every day I see you go to work and come out. I watch you on your breaks. You certainly like to talk to yourself, don't you? And you certainly like wearing clothes that show off that wicked body you have."

She managed to start walking again, her breath coming in panicked gasps.

This was not a situation she ever wanted to be in again.

And she really hoped she had a chance to prevent it.

Please, please, she cried to the universe. Because she didn't believe in god. Not anymore. Not like she sometimes wanted to.

Because believing in the dead was hard enough. Believing in god was downright painful.

Especially in situations like this. When she was about to get raped, or worse. When her life as she knew it was about to end and she could see no way of avoiding it because this area of town was dead...or if there was anyone around, they were more likely to go with him.

She'd left her cell phone in the car, she realized, but also had a grim feeling that no matter who she called...no one could get there fast enough.

She didn't want to keep moving, she almost wanted to just stop and let it happen, because she knew there was no way she'd make it to her car.

There was no such thing as hope in a situation like this.

And then she saw a phone booth. Almost walked past it, in fact.

At first her panicked mind didn't think anything of it; maybe there was a bemused these things are still around? And then her mind started working again and her heart began to beat again, thrumming to life. It was enclosed on all four sides.

It locked.

She wondered if he realized it the same instant she did, because she could hear him scrambling forward, but it was too late.

She was inside. She had locked the door. And he was outside, pounding at it, lunging at her.

She tried to not shrink back, but couldn't help one sob, one scream, and he smirked at her. "It doesn't matter," he said. "I'll wait."

She picked up the phone.

"The police won't come," he taunted. "Not in time."

She could call Rick, she reflected. Or Andrea. Andrea would come in an instant but she lived so far away, all the way across the city.

There was a chance that Rick would be out bar hopping.

She had to take that chance but she wasn't sure about his number. Was it 465 or 435?

She picked one, dialed, and watched as he paced outside. "It won't do you any good," he purred. "The police don't patrol here. They'll just think you're a street walker. A whore. And nobody cares about them. Only stupid bitches come here at night."

She ignored him, desperately pressing the phone to her ear, counting the rings.

Rick always picked up on the first or second, he was almost glued to his phone and he never didn't answer a number that he didn't recognize. It just wasn't an option for him.

And it was ring number four.

And then. "Hello?"

It was not Rick's voice on the other end.

"Is Rick there?" She asked cautiously, seeing her stalker outside coming closer; her breath quickened and she could hear the pause on the other end.

"I don't know a Rick," he answered easily.

Fuck.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, feeling all of her hopes plummet because she had no idea how she was getting out of this.

"What's wrong?" He said. "It sounds like you're not fully well. Are you having medical issues?"

"No," she breathed. "But I've locked myself inside a phone booth and there's this crazy guy stalking me outside and I was trying to call my friend and I couldn't remember if it was a six or a three, and now I'm going to die."

Silence. "What about the police?"

"It's a bad part of town, they wouldn't come," she said bitterly. "Believe me, I know."

"Where are you?" He asked, voice indicating that he was trying to take charge of the situation. She heard the clear confidence, the business in his voice.

"Um," she said, unable to see the street sign, and finally told him Mr. Jamison's address.

"And a phone booth?" He said. "Okay. My phone says that I'll be there in five minutes driving."

She felt herself breathe out. "Oh my god," she whispered. "You don't know what this means to me. I could be...I could be crazier than he is. I could be lying. This could be a sting operation."

"And it could also be the total and complete truth," he said. "And if there's that chance on the line, there is no way in hell I'm leaving you there to deal with it alone. My name is Jim, by the way. Be there in five. Sorry, but I can't talk while driving."

The phone clicked off and Melinda breathed out again, another shaky breath. She put the phone back on its hook.

The man was there, just staring at her.

"Hey, baby," he whispered, and then slammed his hand into the glass.

She screamed, jumping, and backed against one side; he just laughed. The glass hadn't even splintered.

She almost started breathing again, but saw him looking around on the ground...a tire iron appeared in his hand and she cursed, covering her face.

She felt it shake the box, the first strike. She heard the glass splinter, but then remain solid.

And then it happened again. "Baby, it doesn't have to be like this, I can be tender," he said, even while doing his damndest to get the box broken. "I can take you anywhere you like. But you have to come out. And if you don't…"

He hit the box again, and Melinda sobbed, feeling tears running down her cheek that she hadn't even noticed until right this moment.

But from how damp her coat collar was, she'd been crying for quite some time now.

She heard the glass splinter again, she heard him begin describing just what he was planning on doing to her, and she heard the door crack.

And she knew it was all over.

* * *

He wasn't the best with directions. Jim would be the first to admit it.

But he watched every damn street sign, paid attention to every word Siri spoke, and finally, goddamn finally, he was on the street she'd named, and he could see a man taking a tire iron to a phone booth.

Every single word she'd said was true.

Jim grabbed the pepper spray on the seat beside him; he didn't believe in guns and it was too hard to get a license for one here anyway.

He could take care of this guy with this, though. Plus he'd already phoned the police. He didn't have too much faith in them showing up on time either, but he wanted them here.

He got out early, starting to walk down the sidewalk silently.

He could see the phone booth begin to break. He could see the structure shiver, as if giving in.

And he broke into a run. The man turned, saw him coming. The tire iron slipped, and then he gripped it ever tighter, raising it high.

But Jim wasn't about to fall for that. He'd taken self defense; a long time ago, to be sure, but he wasn't going to let this guy beat him.

No way in hell.

He charged, and then just stepped away.

The tire iron hit air, and Jim aimed the spray right in the attacker's face.

Curses filled the air, and Jim managed a hard right to the gut; the man fell to the sidewalk and Jim threw the tire iron far away into the dark night.

There was a girl inside the phone booth, the one who'd phoned him. And for a moment, Jim's heart completely stopped, because she was beautiful. So beautiful and so fragile; he hated that women in this world had to pay a price just for how they looked.

She was opening the booth, he was holding out his hand.

"I can drive you home," he said. "Or walk you to your car. We should hurry."

For another good measure, he aimed the spray again; the man screamed out, profanities echoing down the street.

"My legs are all shaky," she confessed.

"Do you trust me?" He asked.

"I don't know why," she began. "But I do."

He picked her up, thanking god that he'd gotten so serious about being in shape. She wasn't hard to lift at all; she was tiny, and she was light, and she clung to him.

She was still crying, shaking against him.

Jim jogged down the block. "Do you have a car?" He wondered.

"Yes, but I don't think I can drive right now," she admitted, her entire body shaking from how violent her sobs still were.

"Then let's just go to mine."

* * *

She sat in his tiny apartment, on one of his kitchen stools.

He was boiling water, and came to stand behind her, hands rubbing up and down her arms idly.

He liked to touch her, but not in a bad way. It was like touch was how he comforted; it was how he showed her he was still there, still present to drag her from the nightmare.

She'd been here for about four hours now, and they hadn't been pretty.

But she was still here, not as afraid as she had been. Jim had been on the phone with the police, dialoguing and giving his statement about what had happened.

Her attacker had gotten away, she knew it wouldn't go anywhere.

And she knew she'd had to quit at Mr. Jamison's shop. She knew that a stronger woman wouldn't cave in to the stalker's demands but there was no way in hell she was going to let that happen again, no way in hell she'd let it be a possibility and an easy way to calm her mind was just to not fucking go back there. Ever again.

Besides, she'd been outgrowing Mr. Jamison. She knew more than he did at this point, something he didn't really like.

"What are you thinking about now?" He asked. "You've got that look on your face again, Mel."

He'd shortened her name. Every time he said it, it made her feel hot inside.

"What look?"

"The look when you start thinking about it too hard again," he breathed. "I'm not saying, by any means, to let it go or that it can be let go, but oh god, dwelling on it...it gives him power. Try to not remember it. That's all you can do, but try."

"I know," she breathed.

He handed her a third mug of tea. "This is chamomile," he said. "It's soothing."

"I don't want to sleep," she finally admitted. "I'll dream about it, I know I will."

"Well, then you just need to tire yourself enough that your brain isn't active enough for dreams," Jim said. "It really does work."

"No, it doesn't," Melinda whispered.

"I have a lot of nightmares," Jim admitted. "It's a hazard of the occupation."

She blinked, wondering where he was going with this.

"I'm a paramedic," he prompted gently; she flushed, realizing that she had, in fact, forgotten his words; that he had said this before now. "And I dream a lot about patients dying. About not getting there in time. Of me making a mistake. A really stupid mistake."

He looked down. "I started working out before bed. It made getting to sleep hard, because my heart rate was up, but it helped a bit. And then...I realized when I was still with my girlfriend…"

He stopped, his face red. "I'm sorry," he said immediately. "I am so sorry, I sound like a total...I didn't mean it like that."

"Mean what?" She said. "I'm confused."

Her weary mind rewound his conversation.

"Sex," Jim finally said. "I don't dream after I have sex. But I wasn't thinking at all when I started to say that and I never meant to presume or suggest, and oh god, I regret this so much, I'm sorry."

Her mouth had fallen open, and she was just staring at him, trying to conjure up anger, fear, disgust, but there was something very real in his blue eyes.

Like he'd lived through nights like this, like there had been no one there to rescue him so he'd rescued himself.

She shifted on the stool, and brought herself up onto her knees on top of it, her position precious.

"Melinda," he began.

"Mel," she said. "You were calling me Mel."

"Mel," he repeated, and her lips pressed against his, her hands gently resting on his face.

His lips were soft, and warm, and it wasn't sexual. It was comforting, and it didn't at all feel like she'd expected it to. And she felt no fear.

Not with him.

She pulled away, staring at him. His eyes had darkened and he licked his lips, just staring at her. "Kiss me back," she said. "I don't...I don't want dreams tonight, Jim. But I need sleep."

"Mel…"

"I'm choosing this," she said fiercely, and he nodded dumbly, before his arms slid around her.

Her coat had long since been shed; the heating in his apartment was actually functioning, unlike back at her place. She wore a sweater dress, and she suddenly no longer had any desire to keep it on.

This made no sense. It was probably still the lingering adrenaline powering her, it was probably her body going insane, not sure how to process all the lingering emotions.

But her lips were finally touched by his again, and he moaned when she pressed herself against him, when her hands were on his neck and he was picking her up, and she remembered how it had felt to be carried home by him, and they were going to the bedroom.

And this was the part that she should protest at. This was the part where her body's flight instinct should have kicked in, but that part of her brain seemed to have shut off, despite the fact that this was insane and how could she possibly trust him, and how could this not be a bad idea…

And he was peeling her clothes away, at every article just double checking with her, eyes meeting, and she'd nod, biting her lip in anticipation.

"Your shirt now," she whispered, voice a little hoarse from all the crying she'd done.

He started to unbutton the plaid, looking unsure.

"We don't have to do this, you know," she finally said, realizing that his hesitancy might not just be about taking advantage of her. Maybe it was deeper.

He was peeling his undershirt over his head and her words froze in her throat, because oh fuck, they did have to do it now.

He looked so good, so impossibly better than any other guy she'd ever been with. Muscles rippling, abs rock hard but not ultra defined, giving him a more real look.

She strained up towards him, only in her bra and panties at this point, remembering the hisses of pleasure he'd given when removing her dress, when pulling her tights down. When his hands had run along her thighs.

She remembered how it had all felt, feeling like it was much further in the past than just a few minutes.

She wanted him.

She desperately wanted him, here and now.

She wound her arms around his neck, pressing her nearly bare body to his. He was so hot, warming her immediately, and they were falling back onto the bed, and he was just kissing her like a desperate man, sucking at her mouth, meeting her tongue with his.

He was finally initiating, he was finally letting his desire show through without hiding any of it.

She rubbed her knee up against his throbbing erection; he jolted and pressed into the contact, desperately grinding against her.

Yes.

This felt good.

"Do you have a condom?" She managed to ask and he shook his head.

"I don't keep them around," he breathed. "I've been single for so long and they expire."

She saw the honesty in his eyes, the bare truth.

"I have one in my purse," she breathed. "Go get it."

He nodded, panting as he stood up, leaving the room on stiff legs.

This made no sense, Melinda reflected, reaching behind herself to unclip her bra.

But she wanted it.

And sometimes something just had to give.

She kicked her panties off and sat on the bed, waiting for him.

He came back with a packet, and a curse word slipped from his lips to see her waiting for him like that.

"Come here," she breathed.

His lips fell to hers, his hands were on her breasts, his knee was between her thighs. They were falling back again, and she was clinging to him, pulling him closer, desperately clawing at him for warmth, for pleasure, to keep that scared feeling from returning.

His jeans finally came off. His socks did too.

He was just in his boxers, and she felt herself throbbing between her legs to see him like that, vulnerable, fucking hot.

He kicked them off, and she reached for the condom, and he moaned low and long when she put it onto him.

"I want this," she said, eyes meeting his. "Do you?"

He gasped, and then he was moving into her, and it felt right, almost. It felt like he was completing her, it felt like he was filling a hole in her.

His hands were cupping her breasts again, warm, big, soothing. It felt like he was shielding her from the world and his lips were against hers, and she was so sensitive, so ready.

She didn't expect the orgasm, and it took her by surprise. She usually took longer, and especially considering these circumstances, it was so unlikely that she'd come quickly, but here she was, almost weeping at the intensity.

And he was coming after her, shuddering over her, banging against her until he was spent.

He fell over her, beginning to shift off, but she held him there. "Stay," she breathed. "Stay inside me for another minute."

He stayed longer than a minute, and when he finally pulled out, he was hard again.

Which was fine.

Because she had another condom.

And she didn't feel like sleeping yet.

* * *

Jim woke in the morning with a warm body curled against him, clinging to him, something that had never happened before.

And there was Melinda, her eyes glowing at him.

"Did you sleep well?" He asked hoarsely, wondering if they'd stay in each other's lives.

"I didn't dream at all," she whispered.

And he knew that it didn't matter. Even if their relationship ended today…

He pressed her into the mattress, hearing her laugh, low and husky, a sound that he'd never thought he'd hear after last night, and it sent pure lust shooting through him.

"I'm not going to work today," she said. "Got any plans?"

"Yeah, to not move from this bed," Jim said, and then hesitated, unsure how she'd take it.

"Good answer, Jim," she breathed.


End file.
